PQ 

2199 
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3  1822  01095  6183 


iJNlVLRSlTY  Or  CALihuKWiM,  SAN  DiEaC  ^  ^ 


THE   BLUE   DUCHESS 


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THE  TRAGEDY  OF  A  GENIUS 

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CAGLIOSTRO  &  CO. 

THE  BLACKMAILERS  ("Le  Dossier  No.  1 13  ") 

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MDLLE.  DE  MAUPIN 

THE  MUMMY'S  ROMANCE 

CAPTAIN  FRACASSE 

LA  FAUSTIN 

THE  OUTLAW  OF  ICELAND  ("Hans  D'Islande 

A  GOOD-NATURED  FELLOW 

COUNT  BRUHL 

THEIR  MAJESTIES  THE  KINGS 

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THE  ROMANCE  OF  A  SPAHI 

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A  WOMAN'S  SOUL 


Honoré  de  Balzac 

William  Beckford 

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Paul  Bourgel 

Paul  Bourget 

Paul  Bourget 

Paul  Bourget 

René  Bazin 

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Edmond  de  Concourt 

Victor  Hugo 

Paul  de  Kock 

Joseph  Kraszewski 

Jules  Lemaitre 

E.  Lepelletier 

Pierre  Loti 

Pierre  Louyt 

Paul  and  Victor  Margueritte 

Auguste  Maquet 

Guy  de  Maupassant 


THE  LATIN  QUARTER  C^Scènesde  la  Vie  de  Bohème  ")  Henri  Mûrger 

~         "  "'  Alfred  and  Paul  de  Musset 

Alfred  and  Paul  de  Musset 

Georges  Ohnet 

Georges  Ohnet 

Georges  Ohnet 

Georges  Ohnet 

Louis  de  Robert 

Matilde  Serao 

Guy  Thorn* 

Leo  Tolstoy 

Leo  Tolstoy 

Emile  Zola 


A  MODERN  MAN'S  CONFESSION 

HE  AND  SHE 

THE  RIVAL  ACTRESSES 

THE  POISON  DEALER 

IN  DEEP  ABYSS 

THE  WOMAN  OF  MYSTERY 

LIFE'S  LAST  GIFT 

THE  DESIRE  OF  LIFE 

WHEN  IT  WAS  DARK 

THE  KREUTZER  SONATA 

SEBASTOPOL 

DRINK 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BARON  MUNCHAUSEN 


Anonymous 


THE   BLUE 
DUCHESS 

PAUL    BOURG  ET 

Translated  by    ER>JEST  TRISTAK 


NEW    YORK;      BRENTANO'S 


THE  U^MVERSI7Y  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  ÛF  CAlIF  -RNIA,  SAN  DIEGO 

LA  JQLLA,  CALIFORNIA 


Prtntea  m   Great  Britain 


PREFACE 

PAUL  BOURGET  was  born  in  the  cathedral 
citj/  of  Amiens  about  fifty  years  ago,  but 
there  are  a  number  of  other  interesting  things  to 
say  about  him.  Like  so  many  famous  authors, 
he  began,  in  1873,  with  verse.  Probably  the 
verse  did  not  bring  him  the  instant  fame  that  we 
all  desire  with  our  first  book,  for  he  soon  turned 
to  prose,  which  of  course  as  Saltus  has  hinted,  is 
more  difficult.  Again,  it  is  probable  that  verse 
and  prose  are  not  really  so  very  far  apart,  but  are 
related,  as  an  angel  is  related  to  a  saint,  or  a  lovely 
sister  to  her  handsome  but  very  masculine  brother. 
Essays  followed  Bourget's  lyrics,  then  a  triumphal 
procession  of  novels  and  travels,  till,  in  1904,  he 
became  a  poet  again  by  wearing  the  blue  and  gold 
costume  of  the  French  Academy. 

For  about  ten  years  now  the  writings  of  Paul 
Bourget  have  had  great  success  in  London's  capitol, 
Mayfair,  among  a  certain  set  or  circle  of  ladies 
whose  minds  are  as  carefully  tended  as  are  their 
beautiful  bodies.  They  have  read  him,  even  as 
they  have  read  Anatole  France  and  Marcel  Prévost, 
because  of  notes  of  distinction  in  the  writings,  the 

lack  of  discord,  the  evidences  of  balanced,  graceful, 
3 


4  PREFACE 

well-valeted  life.  Bourget  belongs  to  the  group 
ot  writers  who  are  sometimes  termed  Salon- 
writers.  I  imagine  it  is  a  German  classification  ; 
it  brings  before  the  vision  one  writing  with  a  gold 
pen  using  a  silver  standish  upon  a  table  of  syca- 
more. Perhaps  if  we  say  in  English  "  the  kid- 
glove  school  "  the  phrase  will  describe,  if  it  does 
not  please.  This  note  of  refinement  in  style,  dis- 
tinction in  utterance,  is  certainly  represented  best 
in  France  by  Bourget,  in  Italy  by  D'Annunzio, 
in  Holland  by  Couperus,  in  America  by  Saltus. 
Of  course  other  countries  have  claims  too.  There 
has  been  very  little  written  about  Bourget  in 
English,  not  because  he  writes  French,  but  be- 
cause he  writes.  In  a  conte  charmingly  named 
A  Bouquet  of  Illusions  Bourget  himself  is  one 
of  the  characters,  the  protagonist  part  in  fact. 
The  conte  is  written  by  Saltus  and  is  worthy 
of  both  novelists 

G.  F.  MONKSHOOD. 
London, 
1908. 


AUTHOR'S    NOTE 

NOT  long  ago, I  assisted  at  the  unexpected  end 
of  an  adventure,  which,  after  it  had  just 
missed  being  a  tragedy,  concluded  in  an  almost 
comic  fashion.  Although  I  was  only  cast  for  a 
very  small  part,  as  a  simple  spectator,  my  heart 
was  too  much  mixed  up  in  it  for  me  to-day  not  to 
feel  in  similar  circumstances  the  bitter  sensation 
of  the  irony  of  things,  which  may  be  either  cruel 
or  beneficial.  It  is  the  chill  of  the  steel  which  cuts 
you,  though  it  cures  you  too.  It  has  occurred  to 
me  to  make  the  adventure  into  a  story.  Obvi- 
ously it  would  be  more  reasonable  to  go  on  with 
one  of  my  unfinished  pictures,  "The  Pardon  of 
Psyche,"  for  instance,  which  has  been  standing  on 
the  easel  for  years,  or  one  of  those  inanimate 
objects  :  old  furniture,  silver,  and  books,  which 
will  comprise  the  series  called  "  Humble  Friends." 
"  A  painter,"  my  master,  Miraut,  used  to  say, 
"  should  only  think  brush  in  hand."  It  is 
my  opinion,  from  numerous  illustrious  examples 
including  Miraut  himself,  that  he  should  not 
think  at  all.  But  I  know  only  too  well,  I  am 
but  half  a  painter,  an  artist  in  intention  rather 
than  in  temperament,  the  outline  of  a  Fromentin  of 


6  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

the  twelfth  rank.  That  is  a  singular  feehng  of 
sadness  too  :  the  feeling  that  one  is  but  an  inferior 
double  of  another,  a  small  and  poor  proof  of  a  block 
already  printed,  a  sample  of  humanity  in  the  like- 
ness of  a  model  who  has  already  lived,  and  in 
whose  destiny  it  is  possible  to  read  beforehand 
one's  own  destiny  !  But  not  all  one's  own  des- 
tiny !  For  I  am  only  too  well  aware  that  I  suffer 
from  the  same  failings  as  Fromentin  without 
possessing  his  brilliance.  But  the  brush  was  not 
sufficient  for  this  complex  and  elaborate  master. 
He  wanted,  with  the  nervous  hand  which  trans- 
mitted colours  to  canvas,  to  put  ink  upon  paper, 
and  what  was  the  result  ?  We  other  painters  said 
his  painting  was  too  literary,  and  Uterary  men  said 
his  hterature  was  too  technical,  too  pictorial,  and 
not  intellectual  enough. 

In  my  own  case  at  each  exhibition  of  my  work 
for  years  past  my  fellow-painters'  reserve,  and 
their  praise  particularly,  have  signified  to  me  that 
I  lack  a  real  artist's  original  and  visionary  nature. 
But  I  do  not  require  my  fellow-artists*  judgment  ; 
what  does  my  own  conscience  say  ?  If  I  really 
expressed  myself  with  my  brush  alone,  should  I 
have  brought  back  from  Spain,  Morocco,  Italy  and 
Egypt  as  many  pages  of  notes  as  sketches  ?  I 
have  for  fifteen  years,  wandered  between  number- 
less contradictory  forms  of  art  and  mind.  I  have 
wandered  from  country  to  country  seeking  the 
sun  and  health  ;  from  museum  to  museum  seeking 
aesthetic  revelations,  and  later  from  art  school 
to  art  school  seeking  an  artist's  creed,  and  from 


TÎIE  BLUE  DUCHESS  7 

dream  to  dream  in  search  of  a  love.  My  affairs 
of  the  heart  have  all  been  incipient  and  abortive 
for  the  same  reason  as  my  affairs  of  the  mind  :  my 
irremediable  incapacity  to  make  up  my  mind  and 
stand  firm,  in  which  to-day  I  recognize  the  strange 
originaUty   of   my   character. 

When  we  see  with  what  infrangible  conditions 
nature  surrounds  us,  is  it  not  best  to  accept  them  ? 
At  least,  I  have  made  up  my  mind  upon  an  essen- 
tial point,  my  work.  'That  is  something.  I.iiave 
promised  myself  to  fret  no  more  over  vain  ambi- 
tions. I  will  be  a  mediocre  painter  ;  that  is  all. 
In  that  case  why  should  I  deny  myself  the  pleasure 
of  writing,  a  thing  which  formerly  discipline  for- 
bade ?  As  it  is  certain  that  the  name  of  M. 
Vincent  la  Croix  will  never  shine  in  the  sky  of  glory 
with  the  names  of  Gustave  Moreau,  of  Puvis 
de  Chavannes,  and  of  Bume-Jones,  why  should 
M.  Vincent  la  Croix  deprive  himself  of  this  com- 
pensation :  wasting  his  time  after  his  own  fashion, 
like  the  rich  amateur,  the  dilettante  and  the  critic 
he  is  ?  That  is  the  reason  why,  when  about  to  Mve 
over  again  in  thought  the  episodes  of  a  real  Httle 
romance,  into  which  chance  introduced  me,  I  have 
prepared  paper,  a  pen,  and  ink.  Here  is  a  fresh 
proof  that  I  shall  always  lack  spontaneous  and 
gushing  geniality  ;  I  have  gone  out  of  my  way  to 
explain  my  motives  at  the  beginning  of  this  story, 
instead  of  starting  it  simply  and  boldly.  I  can 
see  its  most  minute  details  before  me,  so  what 
need  have  I  of  excusing  in  my  own  eyes  a  work 
which  tempts  me  ?     I  shall  be  at  hberty  to  destroy 


8  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

it  if  I  am  too  ashamed  of  it  when  it  is  finished. 
Many  a  time  have  I  painted  out  a  canvas  which 
I  considered  bad  !  This  time  two  logs  in  the 
fireplace  and  a  match  wiU  suffice.  That  is  one 
of  the  unspeakable  superiorities  of  literature  over 
painting. 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  reason  I  can  clearly  recollect  the  exact 
date  of  the  beginning  of  the  adventure  I 
am  about  to  relate,  is  that  it  was  my  thirty- 
sixth  birthday.  That  is  twenty-nine  months  ago. 
That  anniversary  found  me  more  melancholy  than 
usual.  The  reason  of  it  was  still  the  same  :  the 
feeling  that  my  faculties  were  at  the  same  time 
unemployed  and  limited,  and  that  the  boundary 
of  my  talent  was  continually  being  reached.  The 
pretext?  I  smile  at  the  pretext.  But  what  imagin- 
ative man  has  not  had  in  his  youth  childish  and 
heroic  determinations  ?  What  artist  has  not  fixed 
beforehand  the  stages  in  his  glorious  career,  com- 
paring himself  'to  some  illustrious  person  ?  Caesar, 
who  was  as  good  as  most  people,  said:  "At  my 
age  Alexander  had  conquered  the  world."  That 
is  an  heroic  cry  when  the  pride  of  a  still  unknown 
power  palpitates  in  it,  but  it  is  harrowing  when 
the  conviction  of  definitive  impuissance  utters  this 
useless  sigh  towards  triumph.  I  am  not  Caesar, 
but  all  my  diaries — and  I  have  many — abound  in 
dates  which  were  rendezvous  given  by  me  to 
Fame,  but   which   she  failed  to   keep. 

On  my  thirty-seventh   birthday  I  had,  as  my 


10  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

custom  was,  been  looking  through  my  papers  and 
reflecting  that  I  was  still  as  little  known  to  fame  as 
I  had  been  in  my  youth,  still  as  lacking  in  glorious 
works,  great  actions,  and  grand  passions,  and  my 
hope  was  gradually  departing.  That  morning,  too, 
an  agency  to  which  I  was  foolish  enough  to  sub- 
scrrbe,  had  sent  me  two  newspaper  cuttings  men- 
tioning my  name  and  making  unfriendly  com- 
ments upon  my  work,  A  fresh  wave  of  dis- 
couragement swept  over  me,  paralyzing  the 
creative  energy  of  the  soul,  and  clearly  demon- 
strating to  me  my  own  shortcomings.  My 
communion  with  my  thoughts  on  that  darkening 
autumn  afternoon  frightened  me,  and  I  took 
refuge  in  a  means  of  distraction  which  was  usually 
successful,  a  visit  to  the  School  of  Arms  in  the 
Rue  Boissy  d'Anglais.  There  I  overcame  my 
nerves  by  a  series  of  exercises  performed  with 
all  the  vigour  of  which  I  was  capable.  A  cold 
bath  and  a  rub  down  followed  by  dinner  in  con- 
genial company  and  a  rubber  used  to  pass  the 
evening.  Towaids  eleven  o'clock  I  could  return 
home  without  much  risk  of  insomnia.  I  had 
carried  out  the  first  part  of  this  programme  on 
the  first  evening  of  my  thirty-seventh  yeai*  and 
should  have  completed  it  if  I  had  not,  on  entering 
the  dining-room  of  my  club,  met  perhaps  the 
oldest  of  my  Parisian  coirn^ades,  an  old  school- 
fellow too,  the  celebrated  novelist  and  dramatic 
author,  Jacques  Molan. 

"Will   you    come   and   dine?"    he    asked   me. 
"  I  have  a  table,  do  dine  with  me." 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  ii 

Under  any  other  circumstances,  in  spite  of  our 
long  friendship,  I  should  have  excused  myself. 
Few  personalities  weary  me  so  quickly  as  Jacques. 
He  has  combined  with  faults  I  detest  the  quality 
most  lacking  in  me  :  the  power  to  impose  himself, 
the  audacity  of  mind,  the  productive  viriHty,  and 
the  self-confidence  without  which  a  man  is  not  a 
great  artist.  Do  the  great  virtues  of  genius  of 
necessity  bring  with  them  an  abuse  of  the  "  I," 
of  which  this  writer  was  an  extraordinary  example  ? 

The  two  other  men  of  letters  I  knew  best,  Julien 
Dorsenne  and  Claude  Larcher,  were  most  certainly 
not  tainted  with  egotism.  They  were  modest 
violets,  holy  and  timid  violets,  small  and  humble 
in  the  grass  by  the  side  of  Jacques.  "  His  "  books, 
"  his  "  plays,  "  his  "  enemies,  "  his  "  plans,  "  his  " 
profits,  "  his  "  mistresses,  "  his  "  health,  existed 
for  himself  alone,  and  he  talked  of  no  one  but  him 
self.  That  was  the  reason  Claude  said  :  "  How 
can  you  ever  expect  Molan  to  be  sad  ?  Every 
morning  he  gazes  at  himself  in  the  looking-glass 
and  thinks  :  '  How  happy  I  am  to  dress  as  the 
first  author  of  the  day  !  '  "  But  Claude  was 
slightly  envious  of  Jacques,  and  that  was  one  of 
the  latter's  superiorities  ;  through  his  self-conceit 
he  was  ignorant  of  any  feeling  like  envy.  He  did 
not  prefer  himself  to  others,  he  ignored  them. 
The  explanation  of  this  mystery  was  :  with  his 
almost  unhealthy  vanity  only  equalled  by  his 
insensibiHty,  this  fellow  had  only  to  sit  down  with 
paper  in  front  of  him,  and  beneath  his  pen  came 
and  went,  spoke  and  acted,  enjoyed  and  suffered 


12  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

passionate  and  eloquent  beings,  creatures  of  flesh 
and  blood  full  of  love  and  hate — in  a  word,  real 
men  and  women.  A  whole  world  was  produced, 
so  real,  so  intense,  so  amusing,  orso  moving  in  turn, 
that  even  I  am  filled  with  admiration  every  time 
I  read  his  books.  But  I  know  it  is  only  illusion, 
only  magic,  only  a  sleight-of-hand  trick  ;  I  know 
that  the  spiritual  father  of  these  heroes  and 
heroines  is  a  perfect  literary  monster,  with  a  flask 
of  ink  in  the  place  of  a  heart.  I  am  wrong.  He 
stiU  has  there  the  passionate  love  of  success.  What 
marvellous  tact,  what  fingering  in  the  playing  upon 
that  surprising  organ,  pubhc  taste  ! 

Jacques  is  the  accomplished  type  of  what  we 
call  in  studio  slang  a  "  profiteur,"  the  artist  who 
excels  in  appropriating  another's  work,  and  dis- 
playing it  to  the  best  advantage  !  For  example, 
at  the  period  of  his  rise,  Naturahsm  was  in  the 
ascendant.  Zola's  admirable  Assommoir  had 
just  appeared,  and  almost  immediately  came  the 
extraordinary  studies  of  peasants  and  girls  which 
revealed  to  the  world  of  letters  the  name  of  the 
unhappy  Maupassant.  Jacques  reaUzed  that  no 
great  success  was  possible  in  any  other  form  of 
novel,  and  at  the  same  time  he  divined  that  after 
these  two  masters  he  must  not  touch  trivial 
and  popular  enviromnent.  The  reader  was  sati- 
ated with  that.  Molan  then  conceived  the  idea, 
which  amounted  to  genius,  of  applying  to  high  hfe 
the  results  of  the  bitter  observation  and  brutal 
reahsm  so  popular  then.  His  four  first  volumes 
of  novels  and  short  stories  were  thus,  the  descrip- 


'f'  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  13 

tion  being  bestowed  upon  them  on  their  first 
appearance,  pomaded  with  Zola,  and  perfumed 
with  Maupassant.  Epigrams  are  epigrams,  and 
success  is  success.  Molan's  success  was  very  rapid, 
it  may  be  remembered. 

Soon  after,  certain  indications  made  him  realize 
that  the  reader's  taste  was  changing  again,  that 
it  was  turning  in  the  direction  of  analysis  and 
psychological  study.  Then  he  abruptly  changed 
his  methods  and  we  had  the  three  books  which 
have  done  most  for  his  reputation  :  Martyre 
Intime,  Cœur  Crise  and  Anciennes  Amours.  In 
them  he  preserved  the  faults  usual  in  imitators  ; 
long  dissertations,  the  philosophic  treatment  of 
Uttle  love  adventures,  and  particularly  the  abuse 
of  worldly  adornment.  He  had  originated  natural- 
ism in  high  hfe.  He  introduced  analysis  of  the 
poor,  humble  and  middle  classes.  Afterwards, 
when  virtue  suddenly  appeared  to  be  the  order  of 
the  day,  we  had  from  his  pen  the  only  novel  of  the 
period  which  rivalled  in  honest  success,  L'abbe 
Constantin.      It  was  Blanche  Comme  Un  Lys. 

When  social  problems  became  the  critic's  copy, 
Molan  once  more  changed  his  methods  and  wrote 
the  novel  on  a  working-class  family  called  Une 
Epopee  de  a  temps,  a  work  of  imagination  in  two 
volumes,  of  which  65,000  copies  were  sold.  See 
the  vanity  of  aesthetic  theories  !  All  these  books 
were  conceived  with  different  principles  of  art. 
Through  them  we  could  follow  the  history  of  the 
variations  of  fashion.  Not  one  of  them  is  sincere 
in  the  real  sense  of  the  word,  and  all  of  them  have 


14  TH?:   BLUE  DIT  HESS 

in  an  equal  degree  that  colour  of  human  truth 
which  seems  in  this  wayward  writer  an  unconscious 
gift.  The  same  gift  he  displayed,  when  fearing  to 
weary  his  readers  by  an  abuse  of  the  novel,  he 
began  to  write  i)lays.  He  wrote  Adèle,  a  great 
success  at  the  Français  ;  La  Vaincue,  at  the  Odeon 
was  another,  and  the  newspapers  had  informed 
me  of  his  fresh  success  at  the  Vaudeville,  with  an 
enigmatically  entitled  comedy.  La  Diichesse 
Blue. 

Now  the  fact  that  we  were  at  school  together 
proves  that  this  enormous  output,  ten  volumes  of 
fiction,  two  of  short  stories,  a  collection  of  verses, 
three  plays  was  produced  in  sixteen  years.  Jacques, 
too,  lived  while  he  worked  like  this.  He  had 
mistresses,  made  necessary  journeys  which  allowed 
him  to  truthfully  write  in  his  prefaces  sentences 
like  this  :  "  When  I  picked  anemomes  in  the 
gardens  of  the  Villa  Pamphili  !"  or  hke  this  : 
"  I,  too,  offered  up  my  prayer  on  the  AcropoUs  "  ; 
or  again  :  "  Like  the  bull  I  saw  kneel  down  to  die 
in  the  bull  ring  at  Seville."  I  have  quoted  these 
phrases  from  memory.  Besides  all  this,  the  animal 
looked  after  his  relatives  and  his  investments, 
and  preserved  his  gaiety  and  youthful  appetite. 
I  had  proof  of  that  the  evening  I  mechanically 
dined  with  him  in  spite  of  my  secret  antipathy 
dominated  by  the  suggestion  of  vitality  emanating 
from  every  one  of  his  gestures.  We  were  no  sooner 
seated  than  he  asked  me — 

"  What  wine  do  you  prefer,  champagne  or 
Burgvmdv  ?     They  are  both  very  good  here." 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  15 

''  i  think  that  Eau  de  Vais  will  do  for  me,"  I 
rephed. 

"  Have  you  not  a  good  digestion  ?"  he  asked 
with  a  laugh  ;  "  I  don't  know  that  I  have  a  stomach. 
Then  I  will  have  extra  dry  champagne."  His 
egoism  was  of  a  convenient  kind,  as  he  never  dis- 
cussed other  people's  caprices,  nor  allowed  them 
to  discuss  his.  He  ordered  the  dinner  and  asked 
me  if  I  had  seen  his  play  at  the  Vaudeville,  what 
I  thought  of  it,  and  whether  it  was  not  the  best 
thing  he  had  done. 

"  You  know,"  I  replied  in  some  embarrassment, 
"  I  hardly  ever  go  to  the  theatre." 

"  What  luck  !"  he  went  on  good-humouredly. 
"  I  will  take  you  this  evening.  I  shaM  find  out 
your  first  impression  of  it.  Will  you  be  frank  with 
me  ?  You  will  see  that  it  is  not  so  bitter  as  Adèle, 
nor  quite  so  eloquent  as  La  Vaincue.  But  the  way 
to  succeed  is  to  baffle  expectations  ;  never,  never 
repeat  oneself  !  Those  who  reproached  me  with 
lack  of  brain  and  ignorance  of  my  business,  have 
had  to  acknowledge  their  mistake.  You  know  me. 
I  say  out  loud  what  I  think.  When  I  pubhshed 
Tendres  Nuances,  last  year,  you  remember  what  I 
said  to  you  :  '  It  is  not  worth  the  trouble  of  read- 
ing '  ;  but  La  Duchesse  Blue  is  different.  The 
public  is  of  the  same  opinion  as  myself." 

"  But  where  do  you  find  your  titles  ?"  I  asked. 

"  What  !  "  he  cried;  "you,  a  painter,  ask  me 
that  question  ?  Don't  you  know  Gainsborough's 
"  Blue  Boy"  in  the  gallery  of  Grosvenor  House  in 
London  ?     My  play  has  for  its  heroine  a  woman 


t6  the  blue  duchess 

whom  one  of  your  colleagues,  better  informed  than 
yourself  in  English  manners,  has  painted  in  a 
harmony  of  blue  tints  as  the  Gainsborough  boy. 
This  woman,  being  a  Duchess,  has  been  nicknamed 
in  her  set  the  Little  Blue  Duchess,  because  of  the 
portrait.     With  my  dialogue  and  little Favier  !  " 

"  Who  is  little  Favier  ?"  I  asked. 

"  What  !  "  he  cried,  "  don't  you  know  little 
Favier  ?  You  pretend  to  live  in  Paris  !  Not  that 
I  blame  you  for  not  frequenting  the  theatres. 
Seeing  the  kind  of  plays  usually  put  on,  I  think  it 
was  high  time  they  gave  us  young  ones  a  chance." 

"  That  does  not  tell  me  about  Uttle  Favier,"  I 
insisted. 

"  Well  !  Camille  Favier  is  the  Blue  Duchess. 
She  acts  with  talent,  fantasy  and  grace  !  I  dis- 
covered her.  A  year  ago  she  was  at  the  Conser- 
vatoire. I  saw  her  there  and  recognized  her  talent, 
and  when  I  sent  my  play  to  the  Vaudeville,  I  told 
them  I  wanted  her  to  take  the  part.  They  engaged 
her,  and  now  she  is  famous.  My  luck  is  contagious. 
But  you  must  do  her  portrait  for  me  as  she  is  in 
the  play,  a  symphony  in  blue  major  !  It  will  be 
a  fine  subject  for  you  for  the  next  Salon.  I  repeat 
I  am  very  lucky.  Then  what  a  head  she  has  for 
you  :  twenty-two  years  old,  a  complexion  like  a 
tea-rose,  a  mouth  sad  in  repose  and  tender  when 
smiling,  blue  eyes  to  complete  the  symphony,  pale, 
pale,  pale  blue  with  a  black  point  in  the  middle, 
which  sometimes  increases  in  size  ;  her  hair  is 
the  colour  of  oriental  tobacco,  and  she  is  slender, 
supple  and  young.     She  hves  with  her  mother  in  a 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  17 

third  floor  in  the  Rue  de  la  Barcuellère,  in  your 
neighbourhood.  That  detail  is  good  as  a  human 
document.  People  talk  of  the  theatre's  corrup- 
tion :  nine  hundred  francs  rent,  one  servant,  and 
an  outlook  on  a  convent  garden  !  She  believes 
in  her  art,  and  in  authors  !  She  beheves  too 
much  in  them." 

He  said  these  words  with  a  smile,  the  meaning 
of  which  was  unmistakable.  His  remarks  had 
been  accompanied  by  an  insolent  and  sensual  look, 
gleaming  and  self-satisfied.  I  had  no  doubt  as  to 
the  feeling  the  pretty  actress  inspired  in  him.  He 
told  me  about  these  private  matters  in  a  very  loud 
voice,  with  that  apparent  indiscretion  which  imphes 
thoughtlessness  and  so  well  conceals  design.  But 
this  sort  of  gossip  always  has  a  prudent  limit. 
Besides,  the  diners  at  the  next  table  were  three 
retired  generals,  to  interrupt  whose  conversation 
then  gun-shot  would  have  been  required.  The 
noises  made  by  the  thirty  or  forty  persons  dining 
were  sufficient  to  drown  even  Jacques'  most  distinct 
phrases.  So  there  was  really  no  reason  for  my 
companion  to  speak  in  low  tones,  as  I  did  in  ques- 
tioning him.  But  what  a  symbol  of  our  two 
destinies  !  I  instinctively  experienced,  before  even 
knowing  Mademoiselle  Favier,  the  shameful  timidity 
of  the  sentiment  of  which  Jacques  experienced  the 

joy- 

"  You  are  paying  court  to  her,  that  is  what  you 
mean  ?"  I  asked  him. 

"  No,  she  is  courting  me,"  he  said  with  a  laugh, 
"  or  rather  has  been  doing  so.     But  why  should  I 


I8  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

not  tell  you,  for  if  I  introduce  you  to  her,  she  will 
tell  you  everything  in  five  minutes  ?  In  fact,  she 
is  my  mistress.  With  my  reputation,  my  invest- 
ments, my  books,  I  can  marry  whom  I  please  ;  and 
there  is  plenty  of  time.  The  pear  is  ripe.  But 
if  we  were  always  reasonable,  we  should  be  only 
common  people,  should  not  we  ?  She  began  it.  H 
you  had  seen,  at  rehearsal,  how  she  stealthily 
devoured  me  with  her  eyes  !  I  took  good  care  not 
to  notice  her.  She  is  a  coquette  and  a  half.  An 
author  who  has  a  mistress  at  the  theatre  when  he 
does  not  act  himself,  is  responsible  for  a  serious 
orthographical  error.  You  know  the  proverb  : 
the  architect  does  not  hobnob  with  the  mason. 
But  after  the  first  performance,  after  the  battle 
was  won,  I  let  myself  go.  Here  is  another 
human  document  :  little  Favier  had  gone  through 
the  Conservatoire,  had  been  on  the  stage,  and  my 
dear  fellow  she  was  still  virtuous,  perfectly  virtu- 
ous.    Do  you  understand  me  ?  " 

"  Poor  girl  !"  I  cried  involu^ntarily. 

"  No,  no  !  "  Jacques  replied  shrugging  his  shoul- 
ders. "  Some  lover  must  be  first,  and  it  is  better 
to  have  a  Jacques  Molan  than  a  pupil  of  the  Con- 
servatoire, or,  as  is  usually  the  case,  one  of  the 
professors  there,  is  it  not  ?  But  I  am  her  poesy, 
her  real  romance  to  tell  her  friends.  I  have  been 
kind  to  her.  She  desired  our  love  concealed  from 
her  mother  and  we  did  so.  She  desired  meetings 
in  cemeteries  at  the  graves  of  great  men  and  I  have 
gone  there.  Can  you  imagine  me,  at  my  age,  with 
a  bunch  of  violets  in  my  hand,  waiting  for  a  friend 


THE   BLUE   DUCHESS  19 

with  my  elbows  sentimentally  resting  upon  the 
tomb  of  Alfred  de  Musset,  a  poet  whom  I  detest  ? 
Quite  a  student's  idyll,  is  it  not  ?  I  repeat  it  is 
very  foolish,  but  I  found  her  so  amiable  and  so 
fresh  the  first  time.  She  '  rested  me  '  from  this 
Paris  in  which  everything  is  vanity," 

"  And  now  ?"    I  asked. 

"  Now  ?"  he  repeated,  and  the  insolent  and 
sensual  expression  came  into  his  eyes  once  more. 
"  You  want  me  to  confess  ?  That  is  two  months 
ago,  and  a  two  months'  idyllis  a  little  less  fresh, 
amiable  and  restful."  Then  in  a  lower  and  more 
confidential  tone  he  asked  :  "  Do  you  know  pretty 
Madam  Pierre  de  Bonnivet  ? 

"  You  still  seem  to  forget  that  I  am  not  a  fashion- 
able painter,"  I  replied,  "  that  I  have  not  a  little 
house  on  the  Monceau  Plain,  that  I  do  not  ride 
in  the  Bois,  and  frequent  the  noble  Faubourg 
though  I  live  there." 

"  Don't  let  us  mix  up  our  localities,"  he  replied 
mth  his  usual  assurance.  "  The  Monceau  Plain 
and  the  Bois  have  nothing  in  common  with  the 
Faubourg  and  the  nobility,  nor  has  the  charming 
person  to  whom  I  am  referring,  anything  in  com- 
mon, except  her  name,  with  the  real  Bonnivet 
descended  from  the  constable  or  admiral,  the  friend 
of  Francis  I." 

"  There  is  one  less  imbecile  among  her  ancestors 
then,"  I  interrupted.  "  That  is  one  of  the  advan- 
tages the  false  nobiHty  sometimes  has  over  the 
true  nobility." 

"  Good,"  Jacques  said,  shrugging  his  shoulders 


20  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

at  the  sally  with  which  I  had  satisfied  my  ill- 
humour  against  her  pretensions.  "  You  remind 
me  of  Giboyer.  You  are  a  pedant,  sir.  But  I 
shall  not  defend  what  you  call  the  noble  Faubourg 
against  your  attacks.  I  have  seen  enough  of  it  to 
never  wish  to  set  foot  in  it  again.  There  is  too 
much  fashion  about  it  for  me.  Grand  drawing- 
rooms  are  not  in  my  hne.  I  have  nothing  to  do 
with  aristocratic  ladies.  One-twentieth  of  the 
women  in  Paris,  some  young,  some  not,  some  titled, 
some  not,  have  pretensions  to  be  literary,  poUtical, 
or  aesthetic,  but  they  are  all  brainy  and  intellectual, 
and  they  are  not  courtesans.  My  pleasure  is  to 
turn  them  into  courtesans  when  it  is  worth  the 
trouble.  If  I  ever  show  you  Bonnivet,  you  will 
agree  that  she  is  worth  the  trouble.  Besides  there 
is  at  her  house  hvely  conversation  and  good  food. 
Don't  look  so  disgusted.  After  ten  years  in  Paris 
even  with  my  stomach,  dinner  in  town  becomes  a 
terrible  bore.  At  her  house  dinner  is  a  feast,  the 
table  exquisite  and  the  cellar  marvellous.  Father 
Bonnivet  has  made  ten  or  twelve  miUion  francs 
out  of  flour.  It  is  not  sufficient  for  his  wife  for 
the  celebrated  men  about  whom  she  is  curious  to 
honour  her  drawing-room  with  their  presence. 
They  have  to  fall  in  love  with  her  as  well,  and  I 
believe  they  have  all  done  so,  tiU  now." 

I  urged  him  to  continue  his  story,  though  his 
C3micism  made  me  shudder,  his  loquacity  exasper- 
ated me,  and  I  was  horrified  at  his  sentiments, 
which  were  so  brutally  plebeian  in  their  dilettante 
disguise,  for  I  was  greatly  interested  in  his  confi- 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  21 

dences.  He  gladly  opened  his  heart  to  me  as  I 
listened  to  him,  though  he  actually  liked  me  no 
more  than  I  did  him.  He  instinctively  felt  the 
fascination  he  exercised  over  me  and  it  pleased  him. 
We  were  at  college  together,  and  that  strange  bond 
would  unite  us  till  death  in  spite  of  everything. 
He  went  on — 

"  There  is  nothing  to  teU  you  except  that  for 
some  time  Queen  Anne,  as  her  intimate  friends 
caU  her,  absolutely  refused  to  be  introduced  to  me. 
In  parenthesis,  I  wonder  if  this  name  Anne  has 
been  selected  as  coquettishly  heraldic  ?  I  some- 
times dine  at  the  house  of  Madam  Ethorel,  her 
cousin,  whom  she  detests.  I  met  her  there,  and 
I  also  pretended  to  avoid  her.  She  told  any  one 
who  would  listen  to  her  that  I  had  no  talent,  and 
that  my  books  either  bored  or  repelled  her,  that 
being  the  classic  method  of  a  fashionable  woman 
who  wishes  to  pique  a  famous  man  by  not  appear- 
ing to  join  the  throng  of  his  admirers.  Kind 
friends  always  let  one  know  of  this  amiability. 
La  Duchesse  Blue  was  produced  with  some  success, 
as  I  have  told  you,  and  then,  I  don't  know  how  or 
why,  there  came  an  entire  change  of  front.  One 
of  her  beaters — she  has  beaters,  just  like  a  sports- 
man, whom  she  recruits  from  her  most  ardent 
admirers — Senneterre,  whom  you  know  well  ; 
the  old  blond  who  sometimes  takes  the  bank  here, 
and  is  a  great  admirer  of  mine.  Generally  we 
merely  exchanged  greetings,  but  instead  of  that 
he  showered  compliments  upon  me  and  finished 
up  by  inviting  me  to  dine  at  the  Club  in  the  room 


22  THE   BT.UR   DUCHESS 

reserved  for  fasliionable  ladies.  That  is  five 
weeks  ago.  '  How  arc  they  going  to  make  use  of 
me  ?  '  I  thouglit  as  T  went  up  the  stairs.  The  first 
jHTSon  I  met  in  the  anteroom,  one  of  the  prettiest, 
most  elegant  cornors  in  Paris,  was  Madam  Pierre 
dc  Bonnivet." 

"  She  was  just  like  little  Favier,"  I  interposed, 
"  a  coquette  and  a  half.  Ever  since  I  have  known 
you  your  stories  have  always  been  the  same  :  they 
consist  of  playing  with  the  women  who  have  the 
least  heart,  and  you  always  win." 

"  It  is  not  quite  as  simple  as  all  that,"  he  replied 
without  getting  angry  ;  "I  amused  myself  with 
Queen  Anne,  but  not  in  the  way  you  think.  The 
beater  placed  us  side  by  side  at  the  table.  I  should 
like  you  to  have  been  there  in  hiding  listening  to 
us.  The  conversation  was  sweet,  simple,  friendlj- 
and  melting,  the  meeting  of  two  beautiful  souls. 
She  spoke  well  of  all  the  women  we  knew,  and  I 
spoke  well  of  all  my  colleagues.  We  declared  in 
agreement  thai  the  great  awkward  Madam  de 
Sauve  has  never  had  a  lover,  and  that  Dorsenne's 
novels  are  his  masterpieces,  that  the  demon  Madam 
Moraines  is  an  angel  of  disinterestedness,  and  that 
the  noodle,  René  Vinc}^  is  a  great  poet.  Judge  of 
our  sincerity.  It  was  as  if  neither  she  nor  I  had  ever 
suspected  that  one  writer  could  slander  another, 
that  a  woman  of  the  world  could  commit  adultery. 
We  have  taken  our  revenge  since,  and  we  are  at  this 
moment  in  that  state  of  bitter  warfare  which  is 
disguised  by  the  pretty  name  of  flirtation.  I  spare 
von  the  details.     It  is  sufficient  to  know  that  slie 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  23 

is  aware  that  little  Favier  is  my  mistress  ;  she  thinks 
I  am  madly  in  love  with  her,  and  her  sole  aim  is 
to  steal  me  from  her.  Accustomed  as  she  is  to 
masculine  ruses,  she  has  laid  the  snare  which  has 
always  been  successful  since  the  earth  has  revolved 
around  the  sun  :  there  is  no  virtue  like  the  sensa- 
tion of  stealing  a  love  from  another  woman.  The 
most  curious  thing  is  that  Queen  Anne  might  easily 
have  been  virtuous.  Oh,  she  is  very  fast.  But  I 
should  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that  she  has  never 
had  a  real  lover.  Besides,  if  she  had  had  twenty- 
five  lovers  her  scheme  would  still  have  succeeded. 
I  would  wager  that  in  the  earthly  paradise  the 
serpent  only  told  our  mother  Eve  that  he  was 
about  to  pluck  the  apple  for  the  female  of  his  own 
species." 

"  But    what    of    Camille    Favier  ?"    I    asked. 

"  Naturally  she  guessed  or  else  I  told  her — I  don't 
know  how  to  lie — so  she  is  no  less  jealous  of 
Bonnivet  than  Bonnivet  is  of  her.  I  have  not  been 
bored  for  the  last  week  or  two  I  can  assure  you. 
Things  have  moved  quickly,  and  the  rapid  are 
just  as  successful  in  gallantry  as  in  everything 
else." 

We  were  having  dessert,  and  he  was  balancing 
a  piece  of  pear  on  the  end  of  his  dessert  fork  as  he 
concluded  his  confidence  with  this  brutal  cruelty 
which  made  me  say — 

"  You  are  between  two  women  again  ?  You 
are  playing  a  dangerous  game." 

"Dangerous?"  he  interrupted  with  his  confi- 
dent joviahty,     "  To  whom  ?     To  me  ?      Happily 


24  THE   BLUE   DUCHESS 

or  unhappily,  I  am  insured  against  these  fires.  To 
Madam  de  Bonnivet  ?  If  she  does  not  love  me, 
what  risk  does  she  run  ?  If  she  loves  me,  she  will 
be  grateful.  Suffering  requires  feeling,  and  to 
women  of  this  kind  that  is  everything.  But  I 
think  she  is  as  hard  as  I  am.  As  for  Camille,  it 
will  develop  her  talent." 

"  Suppose  one  of  the  lady  admirers  of  the  novels 
of  your  second  period.  Anciennes  Amours  or  Martyrs 
Intime,  were  to  hear  you  now  ?  "^I  said  to]  him. 
"  For  this  is  quite  the  reverse  of  what  you  put  in 
those  two  books." 

"  Ah  !  "  he  said,  "  If  one  lived  one's  books, 
there  would  be  no  trouble  in  writing  them.  Come. 
Let  us  go  down  quickly  and  have  coffee.  I  want 
you  to  see  the  beginning  of  the  first  act.  I  have 
only  one  quality,  but  that  is  a  strong  one.  I  can 
compose.  A  play  or  novel  of  mine  is  compact, 
there  is  nothing  useless  in  it.  The  first  and  third 
acts  are  the  best  in  the  play.  Madam  de  Bonnivet 
prefers  the  second  and  Camille  the  fourth.  AU 
tastes  are  suited.  Waiter,  bring  two  cups  of  coffee 
and  two  fine  cigars  at  once.  Give  me  just  time 
to  cast  my  eye  dowTi  the  closing  prices  on  the 
Stock  Exchange  and  I  am  at  your  service.  Good. 
My  gold  mine  shares  are  going  up.  I  am  about 
three  thousand  francs  to  the  good.  How  is  your 
money  invested  ? 

"  I  have  not  invested  it,"  I  said  sadty,  "  it  stays 
where  it  is  and  brings  in  from  two  and  a  half  to 
three  per  cent." 

"  That  is  absurd  !  "  Jacques  said  as  he  lit  a  cigar. 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  25 

"  I  will  advise  you.  I  have  good  friends,  one  of  the 
Mosé  among  others,  who  keep  me  weU  informed,  I 
know  as  much  as  they  do,  and  if  I  were  not  a  liter- 
ary man,  I  should  like  to  be  a  financier.  But  we 
must  hurry.  Queen  Anne  may  be  at  the  theatre 
this  evening,  though  she  has  already  seen  the  play 
four  times.  If  she  is  there,  you  will  see  two  come- 
dies instead  of  one.  But  I  am  very  glad  to  have 
met  you  this  evening," 


CHAPTER    II 

THIS  author  who  could  when  he  liked  depict 
with  the  greatest  subtlety  was  no  fit  person 
tO  preside  over  a  temperance  society.  When  we 
reached  the  little  theatre  where  La  Duchesse  Blue 
was  being  performed  he  was  a  little  more  jolly  than 
the  beautiful  women  who  drove  up  in  their  car- 
riages from  all  corners  of  fashionable  Paris,  sus- 
pected. I  still  felt  the  inexplicable  attraction,  a 
mixture  of  antipathy  and  admiration,  of  which 
I  have  spoken.  I  listened  to  Jacques  as  he  told  me 
his  plans  for  new  works,  and  I  forgot  his  horrible 
failings  of  heart  and  character  in  my  admiration 
for  the  imagination  from  which  ideas  spurted, 
as  I  had  seen  the  lava  in  the  crater  of  Vesuvius 
do,  while  fiery  stones  of  the  size  of  a  man  shot 
into  the  air  with  a  report  hke  a  cannon.  There 
the  atmosphere  is  suffocating  and  full  of  stench. 
The  sulphur  smokes  beneath  your  feet  and  burns 
them.  Tears  trickle  from  your  eyes.  Your 
breath  fails.  It  is  unbearable.  But  this  brutal 
outburst  of  the  forces  of  nature  keeps  you  there, 
hypnotizes  you. 

Jacques,  too,  in  his  way  is  a  force  of  nature. 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  27 

His  artistic  vitality  will  always  overwhelm  me, 
and  it  did  so  this  evening  in  proportion  with  such 
a  h5^notism.  For  between  the  formidible  exter- 
minating monster  which  waves  its  column  of 
smoke  above  the  devastated  Pompeii,  and  the 
ino&nsive  cerebral  volcano  whose  smoky  eruptions 
overflow  into  yellow  volumes,  or  crystallize  into 
three,  four  or  five  act  plays,  the  difference  is  really 
very  great.  Without  ironical  extenuation  such  a 
comparison  would  be  rather  comic.  Whether 
justified  or  not,  I  gave  myself  up  to  this  sensation 
without  discussion.  Wearied  as  I  was  by  my  day  of 
moral  lassitude,  was  not  this  way  of  spending  my 
evening  an  unexpected  pleasure.  The  comedy 
might  interest  me,  for  this  foppish  egoist  had  great 
talent.  The  actress  might  be  pretty,  although 
doubtless  Jacques'  fatuity  had  transformed  for  my 
astonishment  a  Conservatoire  fool  into  a  bird  of 
paradise.  I  had  too  often  accompanied  Claude 
Larcher  into  Colette  Rigaud's  dressing-room  not 
to  know  these  footlight-mistresses  and  their  vul- 
garity. But  there  are  always  exceptions,  and 
Madam  Pierre  de  Bonnivet  might  be  an  exception  to 
her  class,  although  a  rich  woman  who  collects 
celebrities  .  was  hardly  hkely  to  please  me.  In 
any  case  it  was  worth  the  trouble  of  accompanying 
Molan  to  the  Vaudeville  simply  to  have  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  him  enter  the  theatre. 

"  We  will  go  in  by  the  stage  door,"  he  said  in  the 
Rue  de  la  Chaussée  d' Antin.  It  is  very  charming 
here  in  the  two  little  stage  boxes,  and  upon  the 
stage   behind   the   curtain.     We   can  get   to   the 


28  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

boxes  through  the  wings  if  either  of  them  is 
vacant." 

He  got  out  of  the  carriage  before  me  as  he  said 
this  ;  he  greeted  the  door-keeper  and  went  through 
a  doorway  and  up  a  staircase  with  the  gait  which  is 
unique  in  the  world,  that  of  the  fashionable  author 
visiting  his  paper,  his  editor,  or  his  theatre.  Every 
gesture  seemed  to  say,  "  The  house  belongs  to  me  "  ; 
his  foot  was  hghter,  his  cane  waved  in  his  hand,  and 
his  shoulders  involuntarily  swaggered.  These 
things  are  in  themselves  of  no  importance,  but  we 
painters  who  have  studied  portraiture  make  it  our 
business  to  seize  upon  these  trifles.  The  theatre 
staff  when  they  saw  "  their  author  "  pass,  dis- 
played inexpressible  and  unconscious  respect. 
How  I  should  like  to  inspire  some  picture  dealer 
with  like  respect  ?  When  shall  I  have  in  display- 
ing my  pictures  to  a  friend  the  peaceful  and  inno- 
cently puerile  pride  which  Jacques  displayed  in 
opening  for  me  the  door  of  one  of  the  stage  boxes, 
fortunately  unoccupied,  where  we  sat  down 
while  he  whispered  to  me — 

"  The  first  act  has  been  in  progress  for  five 
minutes.  You  will  foUow  it  directly.  A  former 
mistress  of  the  Duke's  is  tr5ring  to  make  the  Duchess 
jealous.  Was  I  lying  to  you  when  I  said  that  little 
Favier  is  pretty  ?  She  has  caught  sight  of  me. 
Fortunately  she  has  nothing  to  say  for  a  minute 
or  two,  or  she  would  have  forgotten  her  lines. 
She  is  looking  at  you.  You  interest  her.  She 
knows  the  three  or  four  friends  I  usually  bring. 
Now  hear  her  speak.     Is  not  the  timbre,  the  music 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  29 

of    her   voice,  exquisite  ?     Listen   to  what  she  is 
saying." 

I  have  heard  La  Duchesse  Blue  many  times  since 
till  I  know  by  heart  every  phrase.  It  is  a  iine 
dehcate  play  in  spite  of  the  affectation  of  the  title. 
It  contains  an  extremely  good  study  of  a  rare  but 
very  human  jealousy.  It  is  the  story  of  a  friend 
who  is  amorous  of  his  friend's  wife,  and  who  remains 
faithful  to  his  friendship  in  his  love.  He  never 
mentioned  his  feehngs  to  the  woman.  He  has 
never  admitted  it  to  himself,  and  he  cannot  bear 
any  one  else  to  pay  court  to  this  young  woman. 
He  ends  by  saving  her  from  a  irreparable  mistake, 
without  her  knowing  the  reason  or  who  he  is. 
The  first  scene  in  which  the  childish  Duchess  con- 
fides in  her  husband's  former  mistress,  without 
suspecting  the  recollections  she  is  awakening  by 
the  avowal  of  her  own  joys,  is  a  marvel  of  moving, 
vibrating  analysis,  which  might  be  called  tenderly 
cruel.  This  play  is  a  httle  masterpiece  of  to-day 
by  Marivaux — a  Marivaux  whose  airy  gaiety  would 
be  Hke  lace  upon  a  wound.  But  I  did  not  perceive 
the  real  value  of  the  comedy  on  this  first  evening, 
although  Molan  was  present  to  comment  upon  its 
smallest  details.  The  painter  in  me  was  too 
keenly  attracted  by  the  extraordinary  appearance 
of  this  Camille  Favier,  whom  my  friend  had  so 
carelessly  called  his  mistress.  The  box  being 
almost  on  the  stage  allowed  me  to  follow  the 
smallest  movem/?nts  of  her  face,  her  most  fur- 
tive winks,  and  the  most  rapid  knitting  of  her 
brows.     I  could  see  the  layers  of  cream  and  rouge 


30  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

unequally  distributed  on  her  face,  and  the  lengthen- 
ing of  her  lashes  with  black  crayon.  Even  made 
up  in  this  way  she  realized  in  an  extraordinary 
way  the  ideal  type  created  by  the  most  refined 
English  artists  :  Rossetti,  Burne  Jones,  and  Morris. 
Her  fine  features  were  ahnost  too  shght  for  the 
perspective  of  the  stage.  Her  large,  shghtly 
convex  forehead  seemed  clouded  with  dreams. 
The  elongated  oval  of  her  face  made  her  smile 
float  into  her  cheeks.  Her  straight  nose,  rather 
short,  ennobled  her  profile.  Her  full  lips  drooped 
at  the  comers  and  were  at  the  same  time  sad  and 
sensual,  voluptuous,  and  bitter.  This  make  up 
even  gave  to  her  beauty  a  particular  charm,  which 
touched  me  strangely  in  its  mixture  of  the  real  and 
the  artificial.  Her  rosy  cheeks  were  visible  through 
her  rouge,  the  fringe  of  her  long  lashes  beneath  the 
crayon,  the  fresh  purple  of  her  lips  through  the 
carmine,  just  as  in  her  playing  of  the  part  she 
represented,  a  true,  sincere  and  tender  woman, 
was  visible  or  seemed  to  be  visible. 

"  It  is  the  thunder- clap,"  he  said,  "  you  have 
just  felt  !  You  can  hsten,  too.  Your  sublimes 
will  amalgate,  as  Saint  Simon  said  of  some  one. 
But  now  turn  and  look  with  your  glasses  in  the 
fourth  box  of  the  first  tier  on  the  left.  You  see  a 
woman  in  white,  fanning  herself  with  a  fan,  with  silk 
muslin  flounces,  white  too,  and  an  invention  of  her 
own  ?  That  is  Madam  Pierre  de  Bonnivet.  What 
do  you  think  of  her  ?  It  is  amusing,  is  it  not,  to 
play  the  game  of  love  and  hazard  with  these  two 
pretty  creatures  as  partners." 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  31 

I  looked  in  the  direction  Jacques  indicated,  and 
I  soon  had  my  glasses  fixed  on  the  fashionable 
rival  of  the  Bohemian  Camille  Favier. 

The  fatuous  insolence  which  my  comrade  af- 
fected then  appeared  to  me  justified,  and  more  than 
justified,  by  the  beauty  of  this  elegant  femsde  who 
coquetted  with  him,  as  he  told  me.  I  knew  he 
was  too  daring  a  feUow  not  to  go  on  quickly  from 
liberty  to  liberty.  If  Camille  recalled,  even  with 
her  rouge  and  patches,  the  Psyches  and  Galateas 
of  the  most  suave  of  the  Pre-raphaelite  Brothers, 
Madam  Pierre  de  Bonnivet,  with  her  arched  nose, 
her  wilful  chin,  the  fine  line  of  the  cheek,  her 
elegant  haughty  mouth,  had  beauty  enough  to 
justify  the  most  aristocratic  pretensions.  How, 
coming  of  a  poor  family — I  have  found  out  since  that 
she  was  a  Taraval — she  inevitably  recalled  one  of 
those  princesses  so  dear  to  Van  Dyck,  that  incom- 
plete master,  whom  no  other  has  equalled,  in  the 
art  of  portraying  breeding,  and  the  indomitable 
pride  and  heroic  energy  concealed  beneath  the 
fragihty  of  feminine  grace.  The  habits  of  wealth  for 
two  or  three  generations  produce  these  mirages. 

It  is  certain  that  the  painter  of  the  divine  Mar- 
quise Paola  Brignole,  of  the  Red  Palace  at  Genoa, 
never  found  a  model  more  suited  to  his  genius. 
His  brush  alone  could  hstve  properly  reproduced 
the  glory  of  that  tint  whose  dead  white  was  not 
angemJc — the  red  hps  told  that — with  the  cloud  of 
blonde  hair  which  paled  in  the  hght.  The  simple 
sight  of  the  thick  rolls  of  golden  hair  lying  upon 
her  neck,  when  she  turned  her  head,  betokened  that 


32  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

physiological  vitality  of  one  of  those  slender  persons 
who  conceal  beneath  the  tenderness  of  a  siren  the 
courage  of  a  captain  of  dragoons.  Her  neck, 
though  a  little  long,  was  well  developed,  and  the 
fingers  of  her  nervous  hands  were  a  little  long  also  ; 
her  bust,  which  was  outlined  at  each  movement  by 
her  supple  white  corsage,  was  so  young,  so  elegant, 
and  so  full.  But  the  most  significant  thing  to  me 
about  this  creature  of  luxury  was  her  blue  eyes, 
as  blue  as  those  of  the  other  woman,  with  this 
difference,  that  the  blue  of  Camille  Favier's  eyes 
recalled  the  blue  of  the  petals  of  a  flower,  while 
Madam  de  Bonnivet's  e3-es  were  the  azure  of  metal 
or  precious  stone.  They  gave  one  the  idea  of 
something  implacable,  in  spite  of  their  charm, 
something  hard  and  frigidly  dangerous  in  their 
magnetism.  To  complete  this  singular  sensation 
of  graceful  cruelty,  when  the  young  woman  laughed 
her  hps  were  raised  a  Httle  too  much  at  the  corners 
displaying  sharp  white  teeth  close  together,  almost 
too  small,  like  those  of  a  precious  animal  of  the 
chase. 

In  to-day  trying  to  exactly  reproduce  the  im- 
pressions which  I  felt  in  the  presence  of  Jacqnes 
Molan's  two  partners  in  his  favourite  game  of 
heartless  love,  I  am  taking  into  account  that  my 
actual  knowledge  of  their  characters  influences 
my  recollection  of  this  first  meeting.  I  do  not 
think  I  am  giving  too  powerful  a  touch  to  this 
souvenir.  I  can  still  hear  myself  say,  while 
applause  was  being  showered  upon  little  Favier,  to 
Jacques — 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  33 

"  You  make  a  good  choice,  when  you  hke." 

"  I  do  what  I  can,"  he  said  as  he  nodded  his 
head. 

"  I  am  asking  myself,"  I  continued,  "  with 
mistresses  of  such  beauty " 

"  One  mistress,"  he  corrected  me.  "  Madam  de 
Bonnivet  is  not  my  mistress." 

"  It  comes  to  the  same  thing,  as  far  as  it  concerns 
what  I  am  going  to  say.  I  am  asking  myself  how 
you  manage  to  escape  scandal." 

"  I  am  hke  Proudhon,"  herephed  with  a  laugh, 
"  whom  Hugo  pretended  had  the  skin  of  a  toad  in 
his  pocket.  It  appears  that  this  charm  protects 
one  from  every  danger." 

"  Do  you  think  your  luck  will  hold  ?  Then 
what  of  the  women  themselves  ?  " 

"  Larcher  has  an  axiom  :  '  a  woman  is  the  best 
antidote  against  another  woman.'  " 

"  But  the  result  of  that  is  spiteful  vengeance, 
vitriol,  and  the  revolver.  One  of  these  two  women 
I  should  not  trust." 

As  I  said  that  I  pointed  with  my  cane  to  Madam 
Bonnivet. 

"  Really  !  beautiful  Queen  Anne  gives  you  the  im- 
pression, also,  of  a  coquettish  bird  of  prey,  of  a  httle 
spitfire  of  a  falcon,  whom  it  is  not  wise  to  tease. 
Ah,  weU  !  If  you  like,"  he  went  on  as  he  got  up, 
"  the  act  is  over,  I  will  present  you  to  one  or  the 
other  of  them.  It  is  very  funny.  Would  you 
beheve  that  in  my  stories  I  have  always  more  or 
less  need  of  a  looker-on.  When  we  think  that 
mere  aie  people   toolisft  enough  to  criticize  the 

B 


34  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

classic  tragedies  on  this  account  ?  In  my  opinion 
there  is  no  more  natural  person. 

He  took  my  arm  as  he  said  this,  assigning  me 
the  part  of  witness,  of  satelUte  borne  along  in 
the  orbit  of  its  sun.  It  is  a  strange  thing  that 
I  am  really  made  for  those  secondary  parts, 
Pylades  to  an  Orestes,  Horatio  to  Hamlet,  and  his 
coolness  did  not  wound  me.  Alas  !  it  has  been 
decreed  that  I  should  be,  like  Horatio,  always 
and  everywhere  an  unsuccessful  man.  What  irony 
to  have  as  my  Hamlet  the  implacable  egotist  who 
was  showing  me  the  way  to  little  Favier's  dressing- 
room  !  I  followed  him  behind  the  scenes,  up  a 
staircase  crowded  with  dressers  and  supernumera- 
ries, and  along  corridors  full  of  doors  from  behind 
which  came  the  sounds  of  laughter,  singing,  argu- 
ment, and  of  expressions  used  at  a  card-party. 

Previously  I  had  only  been  behind  the  scenes 
at  the  Comédie  Française  of  the  famous  theatres, 
where  I  often  accompanied  the  unfortunate  Claude. 
At  that  theatre  was  to  be  found  the  correct  and 
conventional  respectability  which  too  often  spoils 
the  acting  of  members  of  the  company  of  that 
famous  house.  My  horror  of  pretentiousness  has 
always  made  me  dislike  the  Comédie,  with  its 
elegant  appearance,  its  secular  portraits,  its  vener- 
able busts,  and  its  elegant  green  room.  There 
more  than  elsewhere  I  have  experienced  the  dis- 
enchantment of  the  contrast  between  the  play  and 
the  back  of  the  stage,  between  theatrical  prestige 
and  its  kitchen.  On  the  contrary,  behind  the 
scenes  of  the  smaller  theatres,  where  my  friends 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  35 

have  taken  me,  the  Varieties,  the  Gymnase  and  the 
Vaudeville  on  that  evening,  I  have  felt  the  pic- 
turesque antitheses,  the  supple  improvization,  the 
animal  energy  which  constitute  an  actor's  business. 
Chance  willed  that  in  the  company  of  Jacques 
Molan,  after  being  a  prey  to  impuissance  for  the 
entire  day,  I  should  find  a  complete  cure  for  my 
vitality.  Did  we  not  hear,  as  we  knocked  at  the 
door  of  Mademoiselle  Favier's  dressing-room, 
the  following  dialogue  exchanged  by  two  actors 
playing  the  piece,  the  famous  Bressorè,  and  a 
gentleman  in  a  frock  coat  and  tall  hat,  whose 
clean-shaven  face  and  bluish  cheeks  showed  he 
was  an  actor  of  this  or  some  other  company, 

"  I  was  not  up  to  much  in  my  new  part,"  the 
latter  asked,  "  was  I  ?     Tell  me  the  truth  ?  " 

"  You  were  very  good,"  Bressorè  replied,  "  but 
you  have  one  failing." 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  You  don't  stand  firm  and  look  the  audience 
straight  in  the  face." 

"  That  fellow  has  just  mentioned  the  secret  of 
success  in  the  arts,"  Jacques  Molan  said  to 
me  with  a  laugh;  "between  ourselves  as  friends, 
you  are  a  Httle  lacking  in  assurance  yourself.  If 
I  met  you  more  often  I  would  give  you " 

In  saying  this  he  did  not  suspect  how  gaily  and 
hardly  he  was  touching  a  sore  in  my  artistic 
conscience,  and  I  did  not  give  him  the  answer 
which  rose  to  my  lips.  "  That  simply  proves  the 
baseness  and  brutality  of  success,  and  that  the 
artist  who  succeeds  is  often  a  charlatan  in  disguise." 


36  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

He  had  just  knocked  at  the  dressing-room  door. 
A  voice  had  answered,  "  Who  is  there  ?  "  then 
without  waiting  for  a  reply  the  door  opened  and 
Camille  Favier  appeared  with  a  smile  of  happiness 
upon  her  pretty  face  which  changed  into  a  con- 
strained expression  when  she  saw  that  her  lover 
was  not  alone. 

"  Ah  !  "  she  said,  slightly  confused,  "  I  did  not 
think  you  would  bring  any  one,  and  my  dressing- 
room  is  untidy." 

"  That  does  not  matter,"  said  Jacques  as  he 
gently  pushed  her  back  into  the  room  with  one  hand 
and  introduced  me  with  the  other.  "  My  friend 
is  no  one  of  importance  as  you  think  he  is,  Httle  Blue 
Duchess.  He  is  a  very  old  friend  of  mine  and  a 
painter,  a  very  great  painter,  you  understand. 
All  our  friends  are  great  men.  He  is  used  to  dis- 
order in  his  own  studio,  so  make  your  mind  easy. 
He  asked  to  be  introduced  to  you  because  he  has 
long  wished  to  paint  your  portrait."  He  nudged 
me  with  his  elbow  to  warn  me  not  to  contradict  his 
delicate  handling  of  the  truth.  "  I  forgot  to 
mention  his  name,  M.  Vincent  la  Croix.  Do  not 
say  you  have  seen  his  work,  for  he  shows  very  little. 
He  belongs  to  the  timid  school.  You  are  warned. 
Now  the  ice  is  broken  let  us  sit  down." 

"  You  can  do  so,"  the  young  woman  said  with 
a  laugh.  My  companion's  banter,  though  not  very 
flattering  to  me,  had  already  transformed  her. 
"  You  will  allow  me  to  tidy  up  a  little  ?  "  she  went 
on  as  with  almost  incredible  rapidity  she  spread  a 
clean  towel  o\er  a  basin  of  soapy  water  in  which 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  37 

she  had  just  washed  her  hands.  She  rolled  up  and 
threw  under  the  dressing-table  several  other  dirty 
towels.  She  put  the  Mds  on  three  or  four  boxes  of 
pomade,  and  hung  a  red  wrapper  over  a  chair,  on 
which  I  had  noticed  a  well  worn  pair  of  common 
corsets,  which  she  generally  wore  for  economy's 
sake.  She  did  all  this  with  a  smile,  and  then 
noticed  a  pair  of  pale  green  stockings  which  she 
wore  upon  the  stage.  These  she  picked  up  with 
wonderful  quickness,  and  I  thought  I  could  detect 
a  tremor  of  shame  in  her  as  she  did  so.  Those  silk 
stockings  which  still  displayed  the  shape  of  her 
line  leg  and  tiny  foot  were  a  small  part  of  her  nudity. 
She  concealed  them  in  the  first  object  which  came 
to  hand,  and  it  turned  out  to  be  a  hat-box.  "  That 
is  all,"  she  said  as  she  turned  to  Jacques.  "  Do 
you  think  I  anticipated  your  visit  and  changed  my 
costume  in  ten  minutes,  watch  in  hand  ?  You 
will  not  have  to  endure  the  presence  of  my  dresser, 
who,  poor  wqman,  displeases  you."  She  went  on 
in  a  caressing  and  frightened  tone  :  "  Were  you 
satisfied  with  me  this  evening  ?  Did  I  play  my 
great  scene  well  ?  " 

If  she  had  seduced  me  the  moment  I  saw  her 
on  the  stage  by  her  charming  finesse  and  ingenuous 
grace,  how  the  chami  worked  with  more  powerful 
magic  in  these  common  surroundings  still  more  un- 
worthy of  her!  This  simple  dressing-room,  so 
untidy,  so  lacking  in  embroidery  and  ornaments, 
where  everything  seemed  a  makeshift  for  the  sake 
of  economy,  recalled  to  me  by  its  contrast  the 
sumptuousness  and  luxury  of  the  dressing-room. 


38  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

where  Colette  Regaud  reigned  at  the  Français. 
Ah,  if  Colette  had  only  had  for  Claude,  when  I 
accompanied  that  unfortunate  fellow  to  her 
dressing-room,  the  evident  love  which  the  Blue 
Duchess  showed  for  Jacques  Molan  even  in  the 
tones  of  her  most  ordinary  conversation,  the 
ardour  of  her  most  fleeting  glances,  and  the  fever 
of  her  smallest  gestures  !  She  was  a  delightful 
child,  who  loved  as  she  gave  herself,  with  her  whole 
being,  naturally  and  spontaneously.  Wliat  divine 
tenderness  my  companion  enjoyed  simply  out  of 
vanity  !  ï  felt  how  delighted  he  was  while  talking 
to  his  mistress,  at  directing  this  little  performance  ! 
His  eyes  became  shining  instead  of  tender.  I 
could  see  that  he  was  studying  me  in  a  mirror  in 
front  of  us,  instead  of  looking  at  the  love-sick 
girl  as  he  answered  her — 

"  You  were  exquisite  as  you  always  are.  Ask 
Vincent  if  I  did  not  say  so  ?  " 

"  Is  that  true  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Quite  true,"  I  rephed. 

"  He  echoed  my  remarks  too,  I  assure  you," 
Jacques  continued. 

"  Then  I  really  acted  my  scene  well,"  she  said, 
with  a  naïve  gleam  of  contentment  in  her  eyes  ;  then 
she  knitted  her  brows  and  nodding  her  pretty  head 
said  :   '"  ah,  well,  I  am  surprised  at  it." 

"  Why  ?"  1  asked  her  in  my  turn. 

"  You  ought  not  to  ask  her  that,"  Jacques  said, 
with  a  laugh.  "  I  know  beforehand  what  her 
answer  will  be." 

"  No,"  she  said  quickly,  and  her  mobile  mouth 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  39 

assumed  the  bitter  curve  it  had  in  repose.  "  Do 
not  hsten  to  him,  sir.  His  is  going  to  tease  me, 
and  it  is  very  unkind  of  him,  about  one  of  the 
nervous  impressions  which  we  all  have — you  two  as 
well.  Do  you  not  sometimes  experience  a  shudder 
of  antipathy  in  the  company  of  certain  people,  whose 
presence  alone  freezes  you  and  takes  away  all  at 
once  your  memory,  your  power,  and  your  mind  ? 
Their  presence  alone  produces  a  feeling  that  one 
cannot  breathe  the  same  air  as  them  without  being 
stifled." 

"  Yes,  I  do  know  those  antipathies  !"  I  cried. 
"  I  feel  them  for  people  I  meet  by  chance,  whom  I 
have  never  seen  before,  who  are  nothing  to  me,  but 
their  approach  is  quite  intolerable  to  me,  just  as  if 
they  were  my  avowed  enemies.  Once  I  used  to  try 
and  resist  this  instinctive  feeling  of  repulsion. 
I  found  from  experience  that  I  was  always  wrong 
not  to  yield  to  it,  and  I  am  sure  to-day  that  an 
antipathy  of  this  kind,  either  strong  or  slight,  is 
nature's  second  sight,  and  an  infallible  warning 
that  a  danger  threatens  us  through  the  being 
whose  existence  annoys  us  thus." 

"  You  see,"  Camille  said  turning  to  Molan, 
"  I  am  not  so  ridiculous  after  all." 

I  had  at  once  guessed  the  name  of  the  person 
whose  presence  in  the  theatre  so  disconcerted  this 
frail  Burne-Jones  nymph,  transformed  by  the 
bad  fairy  presiding  over  her  destiny  into  a  poor 
devil  of  an  actress  in  love  with  the  writer  in  Paris 
the  most  incapable  of  love.  If  I  had  not  guessed 
the  name  Jacques  would  not  have  left  me  in  ignor- 


40  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

ance  of  it  for  long.  He  is  no  worse  than  any  one 
else.  I  have  heard  of  his  good  actions  and  seen  his 
generosity.  To  my  knowledge  he  has  put  his  purse 
at  the  disposal  of  colleagues  whom  he  had  moi-e  or 
less  slandered.  It  is  difficult  to  reconcile  that,  for 
example  with  the  indehcate  unkindness  which 
made  him  name  his  mistress'  rival  at  a  time  when 
he  saw  the  pretty  child  was  so  troubled.  The 
explanation,  however,  is  quite  simple.  Such  a 
thing  as  good  or  evil,  unkindness  or  generosity, 
never  entered  into  his  calculations.  He  always 
played  to  the  gallery,  and  a  single  spectator  sufficed 
to  compose  this  gallery,  which  in  turn  made  him 
perform  the  best  or  worst  actions,  and  made  him 
magnanimous  or  mean.  While  playing  the  part 
of  looker-on  for  him  I  realized  how  correct  are 
the  casuists  who  pretend  that  our  actions  are 
nothing,  but  our  motives  everything.  His  motives 
I  could  see  as  distinctly  as  the  movement  of  a 
watch  in  a  glass  case. 

"  She  talks  to  you  in  enigmas,"  he  said  to  me 
with  a  gleam  in  his  eyes  which  meant  :  "  You  shall 
see  if  my  diagnosis  is  correct  and  if  she  loves  me." 
How  could  this  Tussolin  Don  Juan  resist  the  chance 
of  satisf3âng  two  vanities  at  the  same  time,  that 
of  the  observer  and  that  of  the  seducer  ?  He 
went  on  :  "I  am  going  to  amuse  you  with  the  name 
of  the  member  of  the  audience  who  so  troubles  her 
this  evening  ?  She  is  not  so  complex  as  you  are,  and 
it  is  simply  a  woman  who  gives  her  this  feeling  of 
annoyance." 

"  Jacques  !  "  the  actress  cried  in  a  supplicating 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  41 

voice,  without  noticing  that  the  use  of  his  Christian 
name  betrayed  their  secret  even  more  than  her 
lover's  odious  teasing. 

"  I  warn  you  that  Vincent  is  one  of  her  ad- 
mirers," the  latter  insisted  in  spite  of  this  appeal. 

"  Ah  !  "  Camille  said,  looking  at  me  with  a 
sudden  feeling  of  distrust  ;  "  does  he  know  her  ?  " 

"  He  is  teasing  you,  mademoiselle;  I  have  seen 
in  the  theatre  no  face  to  which  I  could  give  a 
name." 

"  Then  I  am  a  har,"  Molan  went  on,  "  and  you 
did  not  say  just  now  that  Madam  Pierre  deBonnivet 
was  a  Van  Dyck  who  had  stepped  out  of  a  picture 
just  as,  according  to  you,  the  Blue  Duchess  has 
stepped  from  a  picture  by  Burne  Jones.  There 
is  no  need  to  be  surprised,  Camille.  Comparison 
with  pictures  is  a  mania  with  painters.  To  them  a 
woman  or  a  landscape  is  only  a  bit  of  canvas  with- 
out a  frame.  This  httle  infirmity  is  to  their  mind 
what  an  ink  stain  is  to  us  authors,  and  he 
displayed,  in  spite  of  his  elegant  attire  as  a  man 
about  town,  a  shght  black  stain  upon  the  middle 
finger  of  his  right  hand  where  he  held  his  pen. 
"  That  is  just  hke  the  rouge  upon  the  actress' 
face,  the  little  professional  mark.  Yes  or  no,  did 
you  say  that  about  Madam  de  Bonnivet  ?  " 

"  It  is  quite  right  I  said  that,"  I  quickly  rephed, 
"  but  mention  the  fact  that  it  was  you  who  pointed 
this  woman  out  to  me,  and  that  I  have  not  been 
introduced  to  her.  I  told  you,  too,  that  I  could 
see  in  her  eyes  a  frightfully  hard  and  bitter  look. 
In  spite  of  her  beauty,  elegance,  and  slenderness 


42  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

to  me  she  seems  almost  ugly,  and  more  than  that — • 
repulsive  ;  I  can  quite  understand  Mademoiselle 
Favier's  impression. 

The  look  of  gratitude  which  the  actress  threw  me 
was  a  fresh  admission  of  her  liaison  with  my  friend. 
Besides  she  no  more  thought  of  conceahng  it  than 
he  did,  though  for  a  different  reason.  She  could 
not  conceal  it  because  she  was  so  much  in  love, 
while  he  paraded  the  intrigue  because  he  was  not 
in  love  at  all.  He  caught  her  look  and  resumed 
in  his  bantering  tone — 

"  Ah,  well,  Camille,  see  how  good  I  am.  I  have 
brought  you  some  one  to  talk  to  you.  He  under- 
stands you  already.  Think  what  it  will  be  when 
he  has  painted  your  portrait  !  For  he  is  going  to 
do  so  for  me  !     Are  you  agreeable  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  your  friend  has  not  the  time  just 
now  !  " 

"  Did  not  1  tell  you  that  was  the  reason  of  our 
visit  ?"  he  replied.  I  myself  was  rather  afraid 
that  this  project  would  fall  through.  "  But  time 
is  up,  you  must  be  on  the  stage  when  the  curtain 
rises,"  I  said.     "  Good-bye,  mademoiselle." 

"  No,"  he  continued,  "  good-bye  till  presently. 
Is  it  not  so,  Camille  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  she  said  with  a  laugh.  I  saw  by 
her  eyes  that  she  was  experiencing  a  httle  emotion, 
"  Allow  me  to  say  a  word  to  your  friend  ?  "  she 
added  turning  to  me. 

"  Good  !"  I  thought.  "  She  is  going  to  reproach 
him,  and  she  will  be  right."  I  fell  into  a  me  an- 
choly  reverie  which  contrasted  with  the  place  where 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  43 

I  was,  at  least  as  much  as  did  the  dehcate  sensi- 
bility revealed  by  each  of  the  young  actress' 
gestures  and  words.  We  had  only  been  with  her  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  and  in  that  time  the  appearance 
of  the  corridor  had  changed.  Feverish  haste  now 
betokened  the  approaching  rise  of  the  curtain  and 
the  fear  of  being  too  late.  The  call-boy  went  along 
knocking  at  a  door  here  and  there.  Visitors 
hurriedly  departed.  The  game  of  bezique  went 
on  in  a  neighbouring  dressing-room,  that  of  an 
actress  who  only  appeared  in  the  last  act. 

"  Here  I  am,"  Jacques  said,  interrupting  my 
meditation  by  touching  me  on  the  shoulder,  "  let 
us  get  back  to  our  box  at  once.  If  Camille  does 
not  see  me  when  she  appears  on  the  stage,  she  will 
look  for  me  in  Madam  de  Bonnivet's  box  and  lose 
her  power." 

"  \Vliy  do  you  ar».use  yourself  by  exciting  her 
jealousy  ?"  I  replied.  "  How  can  you  be  so  hard- 
hearted ?  You  pained  her  just  now.  She  was 
angry." 

"  Angry  ?"  he  cried,  "  angry  ?  Why  she  has  just 
asked  me  to  see  her  home  to-night.  Her  mother 
is  not  coming  for  her.  Angry  ?  Why  women  love 
teasing.  It  troubles  them  at  first,  but  then  they 
are  like  all  vicious  animals,  they  can  only  be  sub- 
dued b}^  hurting  them.  I  want  you  now  to  see  her 
rival.  About  the  middle  of  the  act  Favier  goes 
off  the  stage,  and  I  will  go  to  Madam  de  Bonnivet's 
box  and  ask  permission  to  present  you.  You  shall 
see  what  a  different  woman  she  is." 


CHAPTER    III 

TO-DAY  as  I  pass  in  detail  these  recollections, 
just  as  one  inks  over  a  half-effaced  pencil 
route  upon  a  map,  I  clearly  understand  a  truth 
which  escaped  me  at  the  time.  I  had  fallen  in 
love  with  Camille  Favier  the  moment  I  saw  her 
on  the  stage  with  her  fine  beautiful  face  so  like  the 
art  type  of  a  master  whom  I  have  studied  much. 
This  little  actress,  of  whom  I  knew  nothing,  except 
that  she  spoke  well  and  was  the  mistress  of  a 
fashionable  author,  had  at  once  touched  one  of 
the  most  vibrating  fibres  in  my  heart.  In  spite 
of  Molan's  boasting,  in  spite  of  the  childish  grace 
of  her  reception,  she  might  be  a  profligate  or  a 
schemer.  Certainly  she  was  a  very  cunning  inno- 
cent, since  by  my  companion's  confession  the 
siege  of  her  virtue  had  nothing  in  com-mon,  either 
in  length  or  in  difficulty,  with  the  seige  of  Troy  or 
even  the  siege  of  Paris.  A  person  does  not  reflect 
much  when  his  heart  is  captivated  as  mine  was. 
This  child  already  occupied  such  a  prominent 
place  in  my  feelings,  that  the  idea  of  her  leaving 
the  theatre  with  Molan  that  evening  gave  me  a 
strange  feeling  of  sadness.  Now  that  the  time  is 
past  I  can  explain  these  impressions  ;    then  I  con- 

44 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  45 

tented  myself  with  feeling  them.  Seated  in  the 
box,  opera  glass  in  hand,  I  thought  in  good  faith 
that  this  sadness  proceeded  to  establish  that 
commonplace  and  discouraging  statement,  that 
the  most  beloved  of  men  are  those  who  love  the 
least.  Then  neither  use  nor  age  have  hardened 
me  concerning  disloyalty  in  love.  I  never  could 
lie  to  a  mistress,  even  one  engaged  like  an  extra 
cook  for  a  v/eek.  Actually  I  have  not  known 
many  of  that  sort.  My  caprices  have  lasted  for 
eight  years,  and  I  have  experienced  deception 
which  ought  to  make  me  indulgent  where  the 
ruses  of  men  against  women  are  concerned.  People 
like  Jacques  Molan  revenge  us  others  who  have 
never  made  ourselves  loved,  simply  because  we 
love.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  experienced  in 
this  box  at  the  Vaudeville  on  this  strange  evening 
that  not  very  delicate  but  very  natural  feeling, 
the  joy  of  the  avenged  company,  if  the  victim  of 
that  vengeance  had  not  been  the  little  Blue 
Duchess.  When  she  appeared  on  the  stage,  I 
was  seized  with  pity  at  noticing  the  happier  look 
in  her  eyes,  the  more  joyful  fire  of  her  acting,  and 
the  visible  tremors  in  her  supple  and  nervous  person, 
of  a  lover  who  believes  herself  loved.  When  she 
disappeared  into  the  wings,  my  pity  grew  and 
changed  into  indignation.  My  friend  got  up  with 
a  malicious  look  upon  his  face.  As  I  watched 
him  in  the  distance  enter  Madam  de  Bonnivet's 
box  I  said  to  myself  not  without  bitterness — 

"  Why  can  one  only  please  a  woman  by  being 
as  womanish  as  herself  in  the  worst  sense  of  the 


46  THE   BLUE  DUCHESS 

word  ?  The  charming  Camille  is  happy  now. 
She  is  undressing  and  dressing  with  the  gaiety  of 
a  brave  creature  who  has  been  under  fire  and  won 
a  battle  for  the  man  she  loves.  She  has  acted  so 
well  in  this  scene.  Hardly  is  her  back  turned 
when  he  deceives  her.  This  treachery  doubles 
the  pleasure  he  experiences  in  manoeuvring  with 
the  other  woman.  No  coquette  ever  had  her  eyes 
so  lit  with  desire  to  please  as  the  famous  author 
then.  He  is  cordially  shaking  hands  with  the 
two  men  who  are  with  the  lady  !  One  of  them 
probably  is  her  husband  and  the  other  a  rival. 
Good,  he  is  talking  of  me,  for  her  wicked  blue  eyes 
had  fixed  me  with  the  aid  of  glasses.  Let  me 
follow  the  play.  It  will  be  more  worthy  and  more 
agreeable." 

Was  I  talking  to  myself  quite  frankly  ?  No, 
alas,  I  vaguely  felt  I  was  not.  Molan's  perfidy, 
and  it  alone,  would  not  have  disgusted  me  like 
this.  Had  it  been  apphed  to  any  other  person 
than  the  little  Burne-Jones  girl  of  the  Vaudeville 
I  should  have  found  it  amusing  enough.  Particu- 
larly I  should  have  been  diverted  by  his  somewhat 
sheepish  look  when  he  got  back  to  our  box. 

"  You  have  not  quite  the  air  of  triumph  I 
expected,  but  everything  seemed  to  go  on  well 
from  the  distance." 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 
"  Madam  de  Bonnivet  has  invited  me  to  supper 
with  her  after  the  performance." 

"  But  what  of  Httle  Favier  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  You  have  put  your  finger  on  the  sore,"  he 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  47 

replied.  I  have  promised  to  see  her  home.  I 
cannot  desert  her  at  the  last  moment." 

"  Ah,  well  !"  I  said,  "  desert  Madam  de  Bon- 
ni  vet.  She  does  not  play  in  the  piece,  and  as  you 
admitted  just  now  is  a  coquette  and  a  half.  She 
will  invite  you  again." 

"  In  the  meantime,  I  have  accepted,"  he  inter- 
rupted, "  that  was  the  coquettish  thing  to  do. 
Playing  with  women  would  be  very  simple  if  it 
only  consisted  of  feigning  coldness.  There  are 
times  when  one  has  to  take  a  high  hand  with  them, 
while  at  others  one  must  obey  their  lightest 
caprice.  So  I  repeat  I  have  accepted.  I  must 
find  a  way  of  getting  rid  of  Camille.  Good,"  he 
said  after  a  moment's  silence  ;  "  I  think  I  have  it 
if  you  will  help  me.  I  will  present  you  to  Madam 
de  Bonnivet.  She  will  invite  you  to  supper  ;  she 
is  a  woman  of  that  sort.     You  will  refuse." 

"  I  should  refuse  in  any  case,"  I  replied.  "  But 
1  do  not  understand  your  scheme." 

"  You  will  see  later,"  he  said,  his  eyes  again 
expressing  the  joy  he  felt  in  performing  before 
a  sympathetic  audience  of  one  ;  "  give  me  the 
pleasure  of  scheming  and  promise  to  do  something 
else  for  me.  Oh,  it  is  nothing  wrong,  noble  person. 
This  is  the  interval.  Before  going  to  see  Queen 
Anne,  we  will  go  and  see  Camille  again.  It  is 
all  in  the  scheme.  What  a  good  house  there  is 
to-night  !  " 

The  curtain  had  fallen  amid  enthusiastic 
applause  and  frequent  calls,  while  Jacques  associ- 
ated me,   almost  without  my    consent,  with  his 


48  THE   BLUE  DUCHESS 

trickery.  I  had  a  good  mind  to  refuse,  for  it  was 
scarcely  in  accordance  with  my  recent  indignation. 
My  scruples  gave  way  to  my  curiosity  to  know 
how  this  M.  Célemère  of  literature  would  escape 
from  the  snare  in  which  he  had  entangled  himself. 
At  least  that  was  the  excuse  I  found  for  myself. 
To-day  I  think  I  yielded  simply  on  account  of  the 
attraction  the  pretty  actress  had  for  me.  A 
person  should  never  be  too  severe  about  another's 
deceit.  The  most  scrupulous  are  ready  to  accept 
and  aid  their  schemes,  when  they  are  in  accordance 
with  their  own  secret  desires.  The  real  cynical 
truth  was  that  we  went  into  the  wings  to 
reach  the  retreat  where  the  pseudo-Burnc-Joncs 
w^as  waiting  for  us,  as  an  actress  waits.  Though 
the  actress'  affection  for  her  lover  was  sincere, 
she  was  none  the  less  the  fashionable  comédienne 
who  had  to  humour  her  admirers,  and  she  could 
not  even  keep  the  seclusion  of  her  modest  dressing- 
room  intact.  Voices  were  audible  as  we  approached 
it.  Jacques  listened  to  them  for  a  moment  with 
a  nervous  expression  of  face  which  made  me  forgive 
him  for  much.  If  he  was  teasing  it  was  because 
he  was  jealous.  Consequently  his  unconcerned 
mockery  was  a  pretence.  I  learned  once  more 
from  his  example  that  there  is  not  necessarily  any 
connexion  between  jealousy  and  love. 

"  Camille  is  not  alone,"  he  said. 

"  Then  we  will  return  later,"  I  replied.  "  She 
will  prefer  to  talk  to  you  more  privatel}^  and  it 
is  better,  too,  seeing  what  you  say  to  her." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  he  replied  with   a   sudden 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  49 

gay  smile  in  a  low  tones,  "  I  can  recognize  the 
two  voices,  they  belong  to  Tournade  and  Figon. 
You  don't  know  them,  do  you  ?  Figon  is  wonder- 
ful ;  you  shall  see  him.  He  is  a  very  fine  specimen 
of  a  snob,  a  disgusting  helot  of  vanity.  Tournade 
is  the  son  of  the  great  candle  maker  ;  everybody 
bums  Tournade  candles.  Of  course  he  is  worth 
millions  of  francs,  and  I  am  incHned  to  think  he  is 
wiUing  to  lay  a  few  at  Camille 's  feet.  Ah,"  he 
went  on  still  more  maUciously,  "  you  are  going 
to  lose  the  flower  of  your  first  impression.  The 
Httle  woman  has  a  heart  and  more  delicacy  than 
her  profession  allows,  but  a  person  is  not  at  the 
theatre  for  nothing,  and  she  does  not  always  take 
the  same  tone  she  did  with  us  just  now.  Come 
along,  be  brave  !  " 

He  knocked  at  the  door  with  his  cane  in  a  way 
which  somewhat  contradicted  liis  words.  There 
was  a  certain  amount  of  authority  combined  with 
nervousness  in  his  knock  "  Decidedly  there  is 
more  in  it  than  he  is  willing  to  admit,"  I  said  to 
myself  while  the  door  was  opening.  Two  lamps 
and  several  candles  all  lighted  had  made  the  atmo- 
sphere of  the  narrow  room  stifling,  and  there  were 
in  it  besides  the  actress  and  her  dresser,  the  persons 
Jacques  had  mentioned. 

I  recognized  at  once  the  two  types  of  fast  men 
so  wonderfully  drawn  by  Forain.  One,  whom 
I  guessed  by  his  looks  to  be  Tournade,  had  a  fat 
red  face,  like  that  of  an  overfed  coachman,  with 
a  heavy  and  ignoble  m.outh,  brutal,  sly  and  satiated 
eyes,    an   incipient    baldness,   short   red  whiskers, 


50  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

and  the  shoulders  of  a  professional  boxer.  He 
had  a  hand,  with  long  fat  fingers  covered  with 
big  rings  with  large  stones  in  them.  Some  greedy 
peasant  lives  over  again  in  people  of  this  kind, 
and  they  bring  to  a  life  of  elegant  debauchery 
the  ignobly  positive  soul  of  a  usurer's  son  with  a 
porter's  temperament.  The  other  one,  Figon, 
was  thin  and  weak,  with  a  never-ending  nose,  and 
every  tooth  in  his  head  was  a  masterpiece  of  gold 
stopping.  His  eyes  were  green  and  twinkling. 
His  sparse  hair,  narrow  shoulders,  and  worn-out 
spine  were  a  line  example  of  the  exhaustion  found 
in  every  race  which  would  justify  the  anger  of 
the  workers  against  the  middle  classes  if  they 
themselves,  who  are  nourished  and  corroded  by 
the  same  vices,  were  not  still  less  worthy.  Both 
the  obese  Tournade  and  the  skinny  Figon  had  that 
way  of  wearing  evening  dress,  the  large  gilt 
buttons  on  the  front,  the  buttonhole,  and  the  hat 
on  the  back  of  the  head,  all  of  which  constitute 
the  uniform  of  foolishness  or  infamy,  which  the 
genial  caricaturist  of  the  Doux  Pays — that  jeering 
Goya  of  the  dismal  revels  of  Paris — has  illustrated 
in  his  legends,  in  which  its  correctness  makes  its 
baseness  more  apparent. 

Lighted  b}^  the  rough  lights  of  the  little  dressing- 
room,  these  two  visitors  were  standing  leaning 
against  the  wall,  handling  their  canes  in  a  brutish 
way,  and  watching  the  little  actress  who  was  at 
her  toilette  with  a  wrapper  round  her  shoulders. 
She  was  making  up  her  face  for  the  next  act  in 
which  she  had  to  appear  in  disguise,  in  the  costume 


THE  BT.UE  DUCHESS  51 

of  the  picture  after  which  the  play  was  called,  all 
in  blue  from  the  satin  of  her  shoes  to  the  ribbon 
in  her  hair.  The  only  long  chair  and  couch  had 
a  dress  and  cloak  spread  out  on  them.  Evidently 
the  persons  had  intruded  upon  her,  had  not  been 
asked  to  sit  down,  and  she  was  about  to  dismiss 
them.  This  sign  of  her  independence  caused  me 
keen  pleasure.  I  conceived  for  these  young  fellows 
a  violent  antipathy — after  that  how  could  I  doubt 
presentiments  ? — especially  for  the  candle  maker's 
heir,  who  exchanged  a  brief  greeting  with  Jacques. 
Figon  made  use,  to  the  fashionable  author,  of  all 
the  usual  "  dear  masters,"  and  eulogies  of  the 
piece  which  were  imbecile  platitudes. 

Jacques  received  these  compliments  with  his 
mouth  pursed  up.  Incense  is  always  agreeable 
however  common  it  may  be,  even  when  it  is  in  the 
vulgar  form  of  tobacco  smoke.  He  nodded  his 
head  as  Figon  concluded. 

"  You    are    my    two    favourite    authors,    you 

and "      I  will  not  repeat  here  the  name  of  the 

obscene  and  outrageously  mediocre  writer  with 
whom  the  fool  associated  poor  Jacques.  The 
latter  gave  a  start  which  almost  made  me  burst 
out  laughing,  while  the  actress  interrupted — 

"  Are  you  going  to  be  quiet  ?  "  she  said.  "  I 
have  already  told  you  that  I  would  put  up  with  you 
if  you  never  spoke  of  books  or  the  theatre."  When 
she  addressed  the  young  man,  he  looked  at  her 
grinning  with  stupidity,  and  she  continued  :  "If 
Molan  does  not  bring  you  into  his  next  play,  he 
will  be  good  to  you,     What  do  you  think  he  has 


52  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

just  told  me,  Jacques,  about  Gladys,  his  old  mis- 
tress ;  you  know  her,  the  woman  you  called  the 
'  Gothen  du  Gotha,'  because  of  her  love  affairs 
with  smart  people.  She  left  him  for  a  counter- 
jumper  ;  and  now  she  has  left  the  counter-jumper 
to  live  with  a  lord,  so  we  can  recognize  her  again, 
M.  de  Figon  says." 

"  Come,"  Tournade  interposed  with  the  air  of 
authority  of  a  smart  man  who  does  not  wish 
another  man  of  his  own  set  to  be  treated  with  a 
lack  of  respect  in  the  presence  of  ordinary  literary 
men  or  painters  ;  "  you  know  very  well  that 
Louis  was  joking,  and  it  is  not  kind  of  you  to 
chaff  him.  You  would  be  the  first  to  grieve  if 
you  saw  his  name  in  some  newspaper." 

"  First  of  all,"  she  rephed  turning  to  him, 
"  these  gentlemen  are  not  journalists  ;  find  out 
to  whom  you  are  talking,  my  boy.  For  a  day 
when  you  have  not  been  drinking,  you  are  missing 
a  fine  opportunity  for  silence.  Besides  if  you  are 
not  satisfied  you  know  this  is  my  dressing-room." 
She  had  such  an  ugly  look  as  she  uttered,  with 
increasing  bitterness  in  her  voice,  these  insolent 
remarks,  and  her  intention  of  getting  rid  of  these 
two  young  men  was  so  obvious,  that  I  had  a  feeling 
of  shame  and  almost  pity  for  them,  and  especially 
for  Tournade,  who  though  he  looked  hke  a  brutal 
and  vulgar  man,  had  some  pride  and  blood  in  his 
veins.  He  contented  himself  with  answering  by 
a  laugh  as  common  as  himself  and  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulders,  while  Jacques  said — 

"  We  came  to  pay  our  compliments  to  you,  h'ttle 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  53 

Duchess,  but  it  does  not  appear  to  be  the  evening 
for  pohteness." 

"It  is  always  so  for  you  and  your  friend,"  she 
said,  turning  to  us  her  face  which  had  become 
tender  once  more,  and  her  shining  eyes  which 
uttered,  proclaimed,  and  cried  aloud  this  phrase  : 
"  Here  is  my  lover  whom  I  love,  and  I  am  proud 
of  him  ;  I  want  you  to  know  him,  to  quote  him  ;  I 
want  the  whole  world  to  know  him." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Jacques.  Without  doubt 
his  fatuity  had  been  sufficiently  fed.  It  displeased 
him  to  triumph  too  openly  over  a  Tournade  or  a 
Figon,  for  he  went  on  :  "  Allow  me  just  a  little 
criticism  ?  " 

Camille  cast  a  fresh  glance  at  him  now,  some- 
what uneasily,  as  she  went  on  putting  the  rouge 
on  her  face,  and  he  began  to  quote  two  insignificant 
remarks  I  had  made  concerning  the  excessive 
emphasis  at  two  places  in  her  part.  One  of  them 
concerned  the  manner  in  which  the  actress  had 
to  say  to  a  friend,  "  I  do  not  want  him,"  speaking 
of  the  husband  she  loved  ;  the  other  was  a  gesture 
on  recognizing  the  writing  on  the  address  of  a 
letter. 

I  could  not  help  admiring  the  change  of  look 
and  voice  in  both  of  them  in  the  course  of  this 
little  discussion.  The  sudden  seriousness  of  their 
faces  showed  how,  in  spite  of  his  vanity  in  himself, 
and  his  passion  for  her,  the  reahty  of  their  per- 
sonality was  there  in  the  technicality  of  their  art. 
They  had  forgotten  the  existence  of  Tournade, 
Figon,  and  myself.     On  their  part  the  two  men 


54  THE   RT.UE  DUCHESS 

about  town  pretended  to  talk  of  things  which 
interested  them,  which  we  could  not  understand. 
I  heard  the  names  of  horses,  no  doubt  famous  at 
that  time,  mentioned  :  Farfadet,  Shannon,  Little 
Duck  and  Fichue  Rosse,  alternating  with  the  pro- 
fessional phrases  of  the  author  and  the  actress. 
Ah,  how  quickly  the  shrewd  Molan  had  appro- 
priated the  two  poor  ideas  I  had  given  him  without 
mentioning  their  origin  !  His  sole  consideration 
for  my  feelings  was  to  call  me  to  support  his  thesis  ! 

"  Ask  Vincent,  for  he  has  studied  faces." 

"  Ah,  well  !"  he  said  to  me  a  few  minutes  later 
as  we  were  leaving  before  Tournade  and  Figon, 
"  we  will  leave  her  a  prey  to  the  beasts,  like  a 
Christian  martyr,  though  she  may  be  neither  a 
Christian  nor  a  martyr.  You  saw  that  she  con- 
ceals a  little  roughness  imder  her  pre-Raphaelite 
profile,  like  many  of  her  fellows.  Now  we  have 
gone,  those  two  funny  fellows  will  occupy  her 
attention.  What  a  singular  machine  a  woman 
is  !  You  would  think  that  a  watertight  bulkhead 
separated  the  lover  from  the  ordinary  woman." 

"  Does  she  often  lose  her  temper  like  that  ?  " 
I  asked  him  ;  "  and  why  do  those  two  fellows  put 
up  with  such  treatment  ?  " 

"  Bah  !"  he  repUed  with  his  habitual  modesty, 
"  she  would  have  said  much  more  to  them  to 
prove  that  I  was  the  only  person  she  loved.  For 
between  ourselves  I  know  that  Tournade  is  courting 
her.  Do  you  think  that  in  their  eyes  the  pleasure 
of  saying  while  they  are  standing  at  a  bar  about 
midnight  imbibing  a  drink  through  a  straw,  "  We 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  55 

were  with  little  Favier  just  now,  how  quaint  she 
IS  ?  "  counts  for  nothing.  Then  as  we  reached 
our  box  and  I  made  as  if  to  enter  h^  said  :  "  No  ! 
no  !  you  forget  we  must  hrst  pay  Madam  de 
Bonnivet  a  visit." 

"  Whose  invitation  I  will  refuse.  That  is 
agreed."  He  took  my  arm  and  one  of  the  staff 
opened  most  respectfully  for  us  the  communicating 
door  between  the  stage  and  the  auditorium.  As 
we  mounted  the  staircase  my  friend  continued  : 
"  As  a  recompense  to  you,  I  will  let  you  into  one 
of  the  details  of  the  plan  which  will  enable  me  to 
get  rid  of  Camille  this  evening.  You  will  see  what 
a  good  idea  it  is.  With  women,  especially  actresses, 
I  believe  in  tremendous  untruths.  Remember 
the  receipt.  They  are  the  only  sort  which  succeed, 
because  they  do  not  believe  any  one  would  have 
the  audacity  to  invent  such  stories.  Presently 
during  the  last  act  I  shall  have  a  letter  brought 
to  me  which  I  shall  pretend  to  read.  You  are 
there  !  I  shall  display  great  astonishment  and 
scribble  a  few  words  upon  my  card  which  I  leave 
with  you.  Then  I  shall  go  out.  Camille  will 
have  seen  it  all  and  will  be  uneasy.  She  will  play 
her  great  scene  with  nervous  force.  That  is  what 
is  required.  Afterwards  you  will  take  my  card 
to  her,  on  which  I  shall  explain  that  Fomberteau 
— you  know  him  well,  don't  you  ?  No.  He  is 
one  of  the  few  critics  who  has  not  picked  holes  in 
the  Duchess,  and  on  that  account  Camille  loves 
him — that  Fomberteau  has  had  this  evening  an 
altercation  with  a  colleague  and  wants  to  see  me 


56  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

so  that  I  may  act  on  his  behalf.  1  shall  not  be 
able  to  refuse.  You  will  confirm  the  story.  She 
believes  you  and  the  feat  will  be  accomplished. 
But  Madam  de  Bonnivet's  box  is  32,  and  we  have 
passed  it.     Good,  here  it  is." 

He  knocked  at  the  door  as  he  said  this,  but  the 
knock  was  more  deferential  than  the  one  just 
before  had  been  at  the  dressing-room  door. 

A  man  in  a  black  coat  opened  the  door  to  us  with 
a  smile,  greeted  us  and  disappeared.  It  was 
Bonnivet  to  whom  I  was  introduced,  then  I  was 
presented  to  Madam  de  Bonnivet,  and  then  to 
the  Vicomte  de  Senneterre,  who  was  the  "  beater." 
I  was  soon  sitting  upon  one  of  the  chairs  vacated 
by  one  of  these  gentlemen.  The  lady  was  picking 
bits  of  frosted  raisin  from  a  box  with  a  pair  of 
golden  tongs.  She  ate  them,  showing  her  small 
white  teeth  as  she  did  so  with  a  sort  of  sensual 
cruelty. 

"  Are  you  going  to  paint  little  Favier's  portrait, 
M.  la  Croix  ?  Molan  told  me  you  were,"  she  asked. 
"  She  is  a  pretty  girl.  I  hope  you  will  give  her 
another  expression  though.  If  the  dear  master 
were  not  here  I  would  say  that  when  she  is  not 
talking  she  is  like  the  classic  cow  watching  the 
train  pass." 

She  looked  at  the  man  of  letters  whom  she 
called  "  dear  master'  '  as  she  spoke  with  sovereign 
impertinence.  Knowing  him  to  be  the  lover  of  this 
woman  to  whom  she  applied  this  vulgar  epigram, 
what  impertinence  this  was  with  a  harsh  laugh  as 
its  accompaniment  !     Her  laughter,  the  voice  of 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  57 

her  eyes,  was  pretty  but  metallic,  clear  but  implac- 
able, a  gay  laugh  which  sounded  frightfully  brutal 
to  me  !  If  one  could  not — I  repeat  this  as  it 
was  the  striking  impression  of  this  first  meeting 
— imagine  real  warm  tears  from  those  eyes  of 
stony  blue,  neither  could  one  imagine  her  stifling 
a  sigh,  nor  imagine  music  in  her  voice,  nor  indul- 
gence in  her  gaiety.  But  that  which  at  once 
made  her  distasteful  to  me  was  not  her  words — 
the  meanness  of  a  jealous  woman  was  their  justifica- 
tion— it  was  a  curious  trait  in  her  personality. 
How  can  I  find  words  for  the  indefinable  shades 
of  expression  on  her  face  which  three  pencil  lines 
and  two  touches  of  colour  would  clearly  repro- 
duce ?  How  can  I  explain  that  something  about 
her  which  was  at  the  same  time  insensible  and 
enervated,  glacial  and  crazy,  and  so  plain  in  the 
contrast  between  her  banter  and  her  fine  aristo- 
cratic profile,  which  was  almost  ideal  :  between 
her  jeering  laugh  and  her  fine  mouth,  between 
the  disdainful  carriage  of  her  neck  and  her  willingly 
famihar  manners  ?  This  pretty  deHcate  head, 
with  its  haughty  and  fragile  grace,  which  had  at 
once  evoked  in  me  the  image  of  a  queen  of  elfs 
with  its  blonde  hair  and  flowerlike  complexion, 
was,  I  have  since  understood,  the  victim  of  the 
most  terrible  ennui  in  the  world,  that  which  abso- 
lute insensibility  in  the  midst  of  ail  the  good  things 
of  the  world,  and  the  radical  incapacity  of  enjoying 
anything  when  one  possesses  all  one  desires,  inflicts 
upon  us.  Since  then,  I  have  thought  the  "  dear 
master  "  was  very  greatly  mistaken  on  his  own 


58  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

account,  that  this  ennui,  so  like  that  of  a  man  of 
the  world  growing  old,  perhaps  came  from  abuse, 
and  that  there  was  a  blasé  woman  in  this  weary 
one.  I  guessed  that  she  had  dared  many  things 
with  singular  intrepidity.  But  there  was  no  need 
for  these  hypotheses  upon  the  secrets  of  her  life 
for  uneasiness  to  overcome  me.  The  direct  way 
in  which  she  questioned  me,  who  cannot  bear 
questioning,  gave  me  a  feeling  of  insecurity. 

"  Have  you  known  Molan  long  ?  "  she  asked  me. 

"  About  fifteen  years,"  I  replied. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  him  in  love  except  in  his 
books  ?  " 

"  You  will  at  once  intimidate  him,  madam,"  my 
friend  replied  for  me.  "He  is  not  used  to  your 
imperial  manner." 

She  went  on,still  keeping  her  eyes  faxed  on  Molan, 
though  addressing  me — 

"  Has  little  Favier  any  brains  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !"  he  replied  quickly  and  in  good  faith. 
I  should  have  made  the  same  answer  to  this  creature 
whose  accent  alone  was  sufficient  to  irritate  me. 
I  then  began  an  enthusiastic  eulogy  of  the  poor 
girl  I  hardly  knew,  and  who  had  surprised  me 
by  her  sudden  vulgarity.  Jacques  listened  to 
me  as  I  sang  the  praises  of  his  mistress  in  a  stupor 
which  Madam  de  Bonnivet  construed  into  a  sense 
of  umbrage.  She  was  not  the  woman  to  neglect 
this  opportunity  of  sowing  the  seeds  of  discord 
between  two  friends.  It  is  my  test  for  all  feminine 
or  masculine  natures,  this  instinctive  tremor  of 
sympathy  or  antipathy  before  the  sentiments  of 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  59 

others.  It  was  sufficient  for  Madam  de  Bonnivet 
to  believe  that  Jacques  and  I  were  united  by 
sincere  comradeship,  for  the  temptation  to  sever 
this  friendship  to  seize  her. 

"  Stop,"  she  said  ;  "  should  the  painter  be  so 
amorous  of  his  model  ?  "  She  laughed  her  wicked 
laugh.  Then  suddenly  she  turned  her  head  and 
said  to  her  husband  :  "  Pierre,  you  don't  take 
enough  exercise,  you  are  getting  fat.  It  makes 
you  look  ten  years  older  than  you  really  are.  You 
should  take  Senneterre  as  your  example."  This 
evening  the  "  beater  "  was  polished  and  fastened 
together  like  an  old  piece  of  furniture,  so  that  this 
praise  of  his  apparent  youth  was  fearful  irony. 
"  Come,"  she  concluded,  "  don't  get  angry,  but 
have  some  raisins,  they  are  exquisite." 

"  What  an  amiable  child  !"  I  said  to  myself 
as  she  offered  us  the  box  of  fruit  in  a  peevish  way. 
"  What  time  is  she  put  to  bed  ?  "  Her  character, 
which  had  no  inner  truth,  was  ceaselessly  dominated 
by  a  double  need  in  which  two  moral  miseries  were 
manifest  :  the  unhealthy  appetite  for  producing 
an  effect  developed  in  her  by  the  abuse  of  worldly 
success,  the  even  more  unhealthy  appetite  for 
emotion  at  all  costs,  the  result  of  secret  licentious- 
ness, which  had  made  her  blasé,  and  her  lack  of 
heart.  Have  I  mentioned  that  she  was  a  mother, 
and  that  she  did  not  love  her  child,  who  had  been 
at  a  boarding  school  for  years  ?  She  could  not 
dispense  with  astonishment,  and  she  had  that 
strange  taste  for  fear,  that  singular  pleasure  of 
provoking   man's   anger,  that   joy  of  feeUng  that 


6o  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

she  was  threatened  with  brutaUty  which  is  the 
great  sign  of  woman  in  her  natural  state.  Except 
on  serious  occasions  the  most  childish  things  were 
good  enough  to  procure  for  her  these  two  emotions  : 
such  as  dazzhng  a  poor  devil  of  a  painter  by 
ways  so  contrary  to  her  social  pretensions,  and 
lighting  in  her  husband's  eyes,  without  any  cause, 
the  hght  of  anger  which  I  had  just  seen  there. 

Senneterre  and  Bonnivet  began  to  laugh  a 
similar  laugh  to  that  of  Tournade  and  Figon  in 
little  Favier's  dressing-room.  The  comparison 
struck  me  at  once,  as  it  has  done  under  different 
conditions  when  I  have  skirted  "  High  Society." 
The  actress  and  the  woman  of  the  world  had 
exactly  the  same  bad  tone.  Only  the  bad  tone 
of  the  delicate  Burne-Jones  girl  betrayed  a  depth 
of  passionate  soul,  and  an  extraordinary  facihty 
for  allurement,  while  in  the  case  of  Madam  de 
Bonnivet  it  was  the  intolerable  and  fantastic 
caprice  of  the  spoilt  child  ;  but  it  was  very  fine, 
for  no  shade  of  feeling  escaped  her,  not  even  the 
antipathy  of  an  unimportant  person  Hke  myself, 
nor  the  ill-humour  of  her  husband  disguised  by 
his  laughter. 

"  My  dear  Senneterre,"  Bonnivet  had  simply 
said,  "  we  are  done  with.  But  an  old  husband 
and  an  old  friend  are  umbrellas  upon  which  much 
rain  has  fallen  !  " 

There  \\-as  in  these  few  words  a  strange  mixture 
of  irony  with  regard  to  the  two  artists,  new-comers 
into  their  circle,  to  whom  the  young  woman  was 
talking,  and  a  deep  irritation  which  no  doubt  pro- 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  6i 

cured  for  her  the  Uttle  tremor  of  fear  she  loved  to 
feel.  She  gave  her  husband,  whom  she  had  so 
saucily  braved,  a  coquettish  glance  almost  tender, 
while  the  glance  she  gave  me  was  indignant,  and 
rather  exciting  than  provoking.  I  had  irritated 
her  curiosity  by  being  refractory  to  her  seductive- 
ness. Then,  changing  her  conversation,  and  almost 
her  accent,  with  a  prodigious  suddenness,  she 
asked  me  in  the  most  simple  way  possible  a  ques- 
tion about  the  school  of  painting  to  which  I 
belonged.  It  was  a  starting  point  for  her  to  talk 
of  my  art,  without  much  knowledge,  but  strange 
"to  say  with  as  much  intelligence  and  good  sense 
as  before  she  had  displayed  lack  of  it  in  her  jeering 
chaff.  She  talked  of  the  danger  to  us  artists  in 
going  much  into  society,  and  she  spoke  according 
to  my  idea,  with  a  perfectly  accurate  view  of  the 
failings  of  vanity  and  charlatanism  which  the  society 
of  the  idle  induces.  It  was  as  if  another  person 
had  replaced  the  original  woman.  They  resembled 
one  another  in  one  point.  It  was  the  production 
of  an  effect  upon  a  new-comer.  Only  this  time 
she  had  divined  the  precise  w^ords  it  was  necessary 
to  use.  Cold-blooded  coquettes  have  these  in- 
tuitions which  take  the  place  of  knowledge  con- 
cerning their  adorers.  I  was  already  too  much  on 
my  guard  to  be  the  dupe  of  this  manoeuvre  and 
not  to  discern  its  artifice.  But  still,  how  could  I 
help  admiring  her  versatility  ? 

"  Is  not  my  little  Bonnivet  clever  ?  "  Jacques 
Molan  said  after  we  had  taken  our  departure;  "  she 
understands    everything    before   it    is   said.     But 


62  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

why  did  she  not  invite  you  to  supper  ?  For  she 
is  interested  in  you.  You  could  see  that  by 
Senneterre's  ill-humour.  He  hardly  returned 
your  greeting."  The  game  he  did  not  bring  was 
not  to  his  liking,  nor  was  the  man  who  brought 
it.  "  Yes,"  he  went  on  in  the  tones  of  a  man 
playing  a  very  careful  game  and  watching  every 
detail  of  his  opponent's  play,  "  why  did  she  not 
invite  you  to  supper  ?  " 

"  Why  should  she  invite  me  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Obviously  to  make  you  talk  about  Camille 
and  myself,"  he  said. 

"  After  my  eulogy  of  little  Favier,"  I  replied,* 
"  she  had  very  little  to  ask  me.  It  did  not  please 
her.  That  is  an  excellent  sign  for  you,  and  a 
suihcient  reason  for  not  wishing  to  hear  it  again." 

"  Possibly,"  he  said.  "  But  what  do  you  think 
of  the  husband  ?" 

"  Weak  to  allow  himself  to  be  spoken  to  Hke 
that,  and  I  am  astonished  that  he  does  so  on 
account  of  his  broad  shoulders.  He  might  well 
reply  with  an  evil  look.  But  he  is  weak,  I  repeat, 
very  weak." 

"  Yes,"  Jacques  went  on,  "  tlieir  relations  are 
stranger  than  you  would  think.  Bonnivet,  you 
see,  is  a  Parisian  husband  like  many  others,  who 
by  himself  would  not  move  in  any  circle  of  society, 
and  who  owes  his  whole  position  to  his  wife's 
coquetry.  Husbands  of  this  kind  do  not  always 
do  this  by  design.  But  they  profit  by  it  and  can 
be  divided  into  three  groups  :  the  noodles,  who 
are  persuaded  against  the  weight  of  evidence  that 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  63 

this  coquetry  is  innocent  ;  the  philosophic  ones, 
who  have  made  up  their  minds  never  to  find  out 
how  far  this  coquetry  goes  ;  and  the  jealous  ones, 
who  wish  to  profit  by  this  coquetry  to  have  a 
full  drawing-room  and  elegant  dinners.  Besides, 
they  go  into  a  cold  sweat  at  the  thought  that  their 
wife  might  take  a  lover.  That  was  Bonnivet's 
case.  He  accepted  all  the  flirtations  of  Queen 
Anne  with  a  good  grace.  He  shook  my  hand. 
He  assisted  in  silence  like  the  most  complaisant 
of  men  his  better  half's  manoeuvres.  Very  well. 
I  am  of  opinion  that  if  he  suspected  this  woman 
of  the  least  physical  famiharity  beyond  this  moral 
familiarity,  he  would  kill  her  on  the  spot  like  a 
rabbit.  She  knows  it  and  is  afraid,  and  that  is 
the  reason  that  she  prefers  him  in  her  heart  to  us 
aU,  and  that  in  my  humble  opinion  she  has  not  yet 
deceived  him.  But  she  loves  to  brave  his  anger 
in  her  moments  of  nerves.  She  has  one  of  them 
every  hour.  Camille  is  too  pretty.  Between 
ourselves  that  was  the  origin  of  the  supper  :  she 
does  not  want  the  little  Blue  Duchess  to  be  in  her 
admirer's  company  this  evening.  I  think,  too, 
that  was  the  reason  she  did  not  invite  you.  She 
hopes  you  will  profit  by  my  absence.  It  is  high 
comedy.     Molière,  where  is  your  pen  ?  " 

"  But,"  I  said  to  him,  as  I  thought  of  the  two 
half-mute  persons  whose  rather  tragic  picture  he 
was  painting  to  me,  "  if  that  is  your  opinion  of 
M.  de  Bonnivet,  it  is  not  reassuring  for  you  when 
you  become  his  wife's  lover." 

"If,"    he    answered    shrugging    his    shoulders. 


64  THE  BTAIE  DUCHESS 

"  My    dear  fellow,  I    have  calculated.     To    take 
any  woman  at  all  as  your  mistress  is  to  always 
run  the  same  number  of  risks  of  meeting  face  to 
face  some  one  who  will  kill.     It  is  just  like  travel- 
ling in  a  carriage  or  on  the  railway,  or  drinking 
a  glass  of  fresh  water  which  chemists  declare  is 
infested    with    microbes.     I    brave    the    dangers, 
railway  accidents,  runaway  horses,  typhoid  feyers, 
and  jealous  husbands   because   I   love   to   travel 
quickly,  to  refresh  and  amuse  myself.   Then  Madam 
de  Bonnivet  knows  her  tyrant,   her  Pierre,  who 
rejoices   in   the   idyllic   names   of  Pierre   Amédié 
Placidi  ;    she  knows  of  what  he  is  capable.     She 
amuses  herself  by  exciting  him  just  far  enough 
to  procure  for  herself  that  little  tremor  of  fear. 
When  she  wants  to  overstep  the  mark,  she  will 
do  it  like  the  reasonable  creature  she  is.     Sus- 
picious husbands  are  like  vicious  animals.     They 
are  ridden  more  safely  after  they  have  been  care- 
fully studied   and   their   pecuharities   discovered. 
But  now  have  you  a  pencil  ?     Good.    I  will  scribble 
on  my  card  in  the  box.     Wliile  we  are  waiting, 
let  me   arrange   with   the    attendant   about    the 
letter   I  want  brought  to  me." 

We  were  at  the  door  of  our  box.  He  stop])ed 
and  exchanged  a  few  words  with  the  attendant, 
and  I  saw  him  hand  her  a  letter  which  he  took 
from  his  pocket-book.  At  this  moment  his  face 
assumed  its  real  expression,  that  of  a  beast  of 
prey,  fehne  and  supple,  and  his  fashionable  ele- 
gance became  almost  repulsive. 

"  That  is  it,"  he  said,  "  and  now  we  are  going 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  65 

to  applaud  our  friend  as  if  we  were  not  the  author 
and  his  friend.  We  owe  that  to  her,  poor  httle 
girl  !  She  will  be  so  disappointed  !  Write  me  a 
line  to-morrow  or  come  and  see  me  to  let  me  know 
how  she  takes  it.  I  am  not  at  all  uneasy  as  to 
the  result  A  woman  who  loves  never  suspects 
the  truth.  She  swallows  the  most  improbable 
things  like  a  carp  does  the  hook  and  a  yard  of 
string  as  well." 

"  But  if  she  guesses  that  I  am  lying  ?"  I  inter- 
rupted. This  trick  which  made  me  his  accomplice 
weighed  upon  my  conscience,  and  I  was  upon  the 
point  of  refusing  my  assistance.  But  if  I  refused 
it  I  should  not  see  Camille  again  that  evening. 

"  She  will  not  guess,"  he  replied. 

"  But  if  she  insists  and  demands  my  word  of 
honour  ?  " 

"  Give  it  to  her.  In  the  case  of  women  false 
oaths  are  permissible.  But  she  will  not  ask  you. 
Here  she  is  !  Are  we  not  like  two  conspirators. 
How  pretty  she  is  !     To  think  that   if  I   might 

have But  no,  there  is  an  old  French  saying, 

that  the  woman  a  man  adores  is  not  the  one  he 
possesses,  but  one  he  has  not  yet  possessed.  You 
must  admit  that  these  words  contain  more  tmth 
than  all  the  works  of  our  analytical  friends  the 
hair  splitters,  Claude  Larcher  and  Julien  Dor- 
senne  ?  " 

Camille  Favier  had  reappeared  upon  the  stage. 
She  had  begun  to  act  with  a  happy  grace  which 
was  changed  into  nervousness  when  the  attendant 
brought,  according  to  the  plan,  into   our  box  the 

C 


66  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

sham  letter  from  Fomljcrteaii.  The  actress  missed 
her  cue  when  she  saw  Jacques  take  a  pencil  from 
his  pocket,  scribble  a  few  words  upon  a  card,  then 
hand  it  to  me  and  leave  the  box.  But  the  impostor 
was  right.  Her  trouble  as  a  woman  only  intensified 
her  playing  as  an  actress.  She  suddenly  ceased 
to  look  in  the  direction  of  the  box  which  her  lover 
had  left.  The  entire  strength  of  her  being  appeared 
to  be  concentrated  in  her  part,  and  in  the  great 
final  scene  very  ingeniously  borrowed  from  La 
Princesse  Georges,  she  displayed  a  power  of 
pathos  which  roused  the  audience  to  a  delirium 
of  enthusiasm.  Only  when  she  was  recalled  by  an 
enthusiastic  audience  and  returned  to  bow  did 
her  eyes  again  turn  to  the  box  in  which  I  sat  alone. 
She  expressed  in  her  look  her  pretty  regret  at 
being  unable  to  offer  this  triumph  to  her  lord  and 
master.  As  far  as  I  was  concerned  it  was  an 
artist's  pride  in  an  artist.  But  her  look  was  a 
supplication  to  me  not  to  go  without  speaking  to 
her,  and  when  the  curtain  fell  for  the  last  time  she 
came  towards  me  without  troubhng  about  being 
seen  by  her  colleagues. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Where 
is  Jacques  gone  ?  " 

"  He  has  left  this  card  for  you,"  I  answered 
evasively. 

"  Come  into  mj?  dressing-room,"  she  said  after 
looking  at  the  card,  "  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 
Her  impatience  was  so  keen  that  I  found  her 
waiting  on  the  stairs  for  me  She  seized  my  arm 
at  once. 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  67 

"  Is  it  true  ?  "  she  asked  me  point-blank.  "  Is 
Fomberteau  going  to  fight  ?  With  whom  ? 
Why?" 

"  I  don't  know  any  more  than  you  do,"  I  repKed 
stUl  with  the  same  indefiniteness. 

"  Did  he  know  that  Jacques  was  at  the  theatre 
this  evening  ?  Had  they  an  appointment  ?  Why 
did  he  not  tell  me  about  it  ?  He  knows  how  inter- 
ested I  am  in  his  friends,  especiall3'  Fomberteau. 
He  is  such  a  loyal  comrade  and  so  bravely  defended 
'  Adèle  '  and  '  La  Duchesse  '  !  Don't  you  see  how 
strange  it  seems  to  me  ?  " 

"  But  Jacques  seemed  as  surprised  as  you  are," 
I  murmured. 

"  Ah  !  "  she  said  as  she  gripped  my  arm  more 
lightly,  "  you  are  an  honourable  man.  You 
cannot  lie  very  well."  Then  in  emotional  tones 
she  said  :  "  But  you  would  not  give  your  friend 
away;  I  know  him  too."  And  after  a  short  silence 
she  continued  :  "  You  live  in  the  same  direction 
as  myself,  Jacques  told  me  ;  will  you  wait  for  me 
and  see  me  home  ?  " 

She  had  disappeared  into  her  dressing-room 
and  closed  the  door  before  I  could  find  an  answer 
for  her.  How  displeased  I  felt  with  myself  ! 
What  contradictory  sentiments  I  experienced  in 
the  theatre  lobby,  which  was  filled  to  overflowing 
with  the  departing  audience  !  One  must  be 
twenty-three  and  have  a  romantically  tortured 
soul  as  CamiUe's  eyes  showed  she  had  to  add  to 
the  exhausting  emotions  of  the  stage  those  of 
the  conversation  she  was  prepared  to  have  with 


68  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

me.  How  I  feared  that  talk  !  How  I  regretted 
not  making  some  excuse  and  leaving  her  !  How 
sure  I  was,  in  spite  of  her  words  upon  the  duty  of 
friendship,  that  this  passionate  child  would  try 
to  make  me  say  something  I  did  not  want  and 
ought  not  say  !  It  would  have  been  better  per- 
haps if  this  fear  had  been  verified  and  the  profligate 
had  appeared  in  her  at  once  beneath  the  lover. 
But  do  I  sincerely  regret  the  strange  minutes  of 
that  night  ?  Do  I  regret  that  walk  beneath  the 
cold  and  starry  January  sky,  unexpected  as  it 
was,  for  at  seven  o'clock  that  evening  I  did  not 
know  this  young  woman  even  by  name  ;  it  was 
so  innocent,  almost  foolish,  too,  since  I  was  the 
extemporized  diversion  of  her  love  for  another  ; 
it  was  so  short,  too,  as  the  walk  from  the  Vaudeville 
to  the  Rue  de  la  Bareuillère  does  not  take  more 
than  three  quarters  of  an  hour.  Those  three 
quarters  of  an  hour  count  for  me  among  the  rare 
gleams  of  light  in  my  dark  and  sorrowful  life. 
Nothing  but  evoking  its  last  charm  would  be  worth 
the  trouble  of  beginning  the  tale  of  this  long  and 
monotonous  suffering. 

Although  I  was  quite  sure  that  Camille  had  not 
kept  me  to  play  the  scene  between  La  Camargo 
and  the  priest  in  Les  Marrons  du  Feu,  by  the 
wonderful  Musset,  described  so  foolishly  by  Molan 
as  a  bad  poet,  my  heart  beat  faster  than  usual 
when  the  dressing-room  door  opened.  The  actress 
reappeared  enveloped  in  a  large  black  cloak 
with  a  big  cape  at  the  shoulders.  A  thick  black 
silk  ruff  was  around  her  neck,  and  her  head,   on 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  69 

which  she  wore  a  dark  blue  bonnet,  looked  almost 
too  small  as  it  emerged  from  her  heavy  wrap. 
She  appeared  to  me  to  be  taller  and  younger.  I 
could  at  once  see  by  her  eyes  that  she  had  been 
crying,  and  I  could  tell  that  she  was  nervous  by 
the  way  in  which  she  said  good  night  to  her  dresser. 
Then,  as  she  leant  upon  my  arm  to  descend  the 
staircase,  I  asked  her,  thinking  I  might  cheer  her 
by  this  kindly  pleasantry — 

"  Are  you  not  afraid  of  being  talked  about, 
leaving  the  theatre  like  this  with  a  gentleman  ?  " 

"  Being  talked  about  !  "  she  said  with  a  shrug 
of  her  fine  shoulders.  "  That  does  not  worry  me. 
Everybody  at  the  theatre  knows  that  I  am  Jacques' 
mistress.  I  do  not  conceal  the  fact,  neither  does 
he.     He  has  told  you,  has  he  not  ?     Confess  !  " 

"  He  told  me  he  loved  you,"  I  replied, 

"  No,"  she  said  with  a  pretty,  sad  smile,  which 
displaj^ed  her  fine  mouth  and  made  a  dimple  in 
her  pale  cheek,  "  I  know  him  too  well  to  think 
that.  He  told  you  that  I  loved  him,  and  he  was 
right.  All  the  same,  it  is  good  of  you  to  want  me 
to  think  that  he  speaks  tenderly  of  me.  I  repeat 
to  you  that  I  shall  be  very  quiet.  I  shall  not  try 
to  question  you.  After  all,  this  story  about  Fom- 
berteau  is  not  an  impossible  one.  It  would  have 
been  very  simple  though  for  him  to  have  wished 
me  good-bye  first.  I  had  looked  forward  so  to 
his  escort  this  evening." 

We  were  in  the  Rue  de  la  Chaussée  d'Antin 
when  she  said  this,  and  it  was  followed  by  a  long 
silence.     Women    who    love    are    unconsciously 


70  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

cruel.  But  how  could  I  expect  her  not  to  regret 
her  lover  to  me  when  all  her  charm  was  in  her 
spontaneity  and  the  untouched  ingenuousness  of 
her  nature  ?  Then  I  began  to  be  in  love  with 
her,  and  this  conversation,  seen  when  talking 
of  some  one  else,  enfolded  me  and  intoxicated  me 
with  that  enchantment  of  the  beloved  presence 
which  is  in  itself  a  pleasure.  The  warmth  of  her 
arm  in  mine  made  my  blood  flow  to  my  heart. 
In  what  a  discreet  pose  this  pretty  arm  leant  upon 
mine,  but  with  a  reserve  so  different  from  the 
abandon  of  love  !  But  her  step  instinctively 
kept  time  with  mine.  We  kept  in  step  as  we 
walked,  and  this  fusion  of  our  movements,  by 
making  me  feel  the  light  rhythm  of  her  body,  revealed 
to  me,  too,  that  though  she  knew  very  little  of 
me,  she  had  perfect  confidence  in  me.  I  experi- 
enced extreme  pleasure  at  the  sudden  intimacy, 
so  complete  and  so  devoid  of  coquetry  ;  my  self- 
respect  had  one  more  idea  of  humiliation  than  hers 
had  of  pretence  over  her  relations  with  my  com- 
rade. By  what  mysterious  magic  of  second  sight 
had  she  divined  at  once  that  I  would  be  for  her 
with  Molan  precisely  the  advocate  she  needed, 
and  also  that  she  could  express  her  feelings  in  my 
presence  in  full  sincerity  ? 

It  is  a  fact  that,  in  our  walk,  first  along  the 
crowded  Boulevards,  then  through  streets  becoming 
quieter  and  quieter,  till  we  reached  the  deserted 
avenues  of  the  Invahdes  and  Montparnesse,  our 
conversation  was  that  of  two  beings  deeply, 
definitely,  and  absolutely  sure  of  one  another.     I 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  71 

will  not  try  to  explain  this  first  strangeness,  the 
prelude  and  omen  of  relations  in  which  everything 
would  be  anomalous.  I,  who  am  as  reluctant  to 
receive  confidences  as  to  give  them,  listened  to 
this  actress  with  a  passionate  insatiable  avidity 
to  hear  the  story  of  her  life.  Though  her  con- 
fidences were  very  singular  when  addressed  to  a 
stranger  almost  an  unknown,  I  did  not  think  of 
doubting  them,  nor  of  rating  them  as  impudence 
or  acting.  But  time  goes  backward  and  the 
months  which  separate  us  from  that  hour  dis- 
appear. The  sky  of  that  winter's  night  again 
palpitates  with  its  crowd  of  stars.  Our  steps, 
which  seem  almost  joined  together,  sound  upon 
the  empty  pavements.  Her  voice  rises  and  falls 
in  turn  with  its  tender  tones.  I  can  hear  the  music 
of  her  voice  still.  I  can  feel  again  the  trouble 
which  was  at  the  same  time  delicious  and  grievous, 
with  which  each  of  her  words  filled  me  :  they 
appeared  to  me  so  touching  when  that  dear  voice 
pronounced  them.  To-day  they  seem  to  me 
cruelly  ironical.  How  life,  cruel  life,  has  frozen 
the  fresh  sweet  flowers  of  sentiment  which  opened 
in  this  young  heart,  and  how  my  heart  falters 
when  I  recall  her  eyes,  her  gestures,  her  smile, 
and  the  pretty  way  she  nodded  her  head  as  she 
said — 

"  Yes,  when  I  can  go  home  with  him  like  this 
in  the  evening  he  knows  that  I  am  happy.  He 
knows,  too,  what  it  costs  me  to  procure  this  liberty. 
Usually  mother  comes  to  meet  me.  Poor  mother  ! 
If  she  suspected  !     Jacques  knows  how  painful 


72  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

it  is  to  me  to  lie  about  little  things,  more  so  perhaps 
than  about  important  matters.  The  meanness 
of  certain  tricks  makes  one  understand  better 
how  ugly  and  wretched  deception  is.  I  have  to 
say  that  my  cousin  comes  to  meet  me,  and  tell  my 
cousin  too.  No,  I  was  not  born  for  this  trickery. 
I  love  to  say  what  I  think  and  what  I  feel.  At 
first  I  did  not  blush  at  my  life.  But  for  Jacques 
I  should  have  told  my  mother  everything." 

"  Does  she  really  suspect  nothing  ?"  I  asked 
her. 

"  No,"  she  said  with  profound  bitterness,  "she 
believes  in  me.  I  am  the  revenge  of  her  life,  you 
see.  We  were  not  always  as  we  are  now.  I  can 
recollect  a  time  when  we  had  a  house,  carriages 
and  horses,  though  I  was  only  a  little  girl  then. 
My  father  was  a  business  man,  one  of  the  largest 
outside  brokers  in  Paris.  You  know  better  than 
I  do  what  happened  :  an  unfortunate  speculation 
and  we  were  ruined.  My  stage  name  is  not  my 
father's  name,  but  my  mother's  maiden  name." 

"  But  Jacques  has  not  told  me  that,"  I  said 
in  such  an  astonished  way  that  she  shrugged  her 
fine  shoulders.  What  disillusion  there  was  already 
in  that  sad  and  gentle  gesture  which  indicated 
that  she  clearly  judged  the  man  whom  she  con- 
tinued to  love  so  much. 

"  The  story  was  without  doubt  not  sufficient!}' 
interesting  for  him  to  recollect.  It  is  so  common- 
place, comprising  as  it  does  the  death  of  the  unfor- 
tunate man  who  killed  himself  in  a  fit  of  despair. 
The  least  commonplace  part  of  the  story  is  that 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  73 

mother  sacrificed  her  fortune  to  preserve  my  father's 
honour.  It  is  true  it  was  a  fortune  he  had  settled 
upon  her  and  it  had  come  from  him.  That  makes 
no  difference.  There  are  not  many  women  in 
the  world  of  wealth  which  Jacques  loves  so  dearly, 
who  would  do  that,  are  there  ?  Every  debt  was 
paid,  andweareleft  with  an  income  of  7,000  francs, 
on  which  we  lived  till  last  year,  when  I  appeared 
at  the  Vaudeville." 

"  How  did  the  idea  of  going  on  the  stage  enter 
your  mind  ?"  I  asked. 

"  You  want  a  confession,"  she  said,  "  and  you 
shall  have  one.  Is  it  possible  to  say  why  one's 
existence  turns  in  this  or  that  direction  ?  A 
person  would  not  go  out  in  the  street  but  for  the 
thought  of  events  which  lead  to  a  meeting."  She 
smiled  as  she  uttered  this  phrase  which  awakened 
in  me  a  very  clear  echo.  I  reahzed  that  it  was  one 
of  those  chances  which  had  made  me  acquainted 
with  her,  for  the  destruction  of  my  peace  of  mind. 
She  went  on — 

"  If  I  believe  in  anything,  you  see,  it  is  in  destiny. 
Among  the  few  persons  we  continued  to  meet 
was  a  friend  of  my  father's,  a  great  lover  of  the 
theatre.  He  is  dead  now.  He  listened  to  me 
one  day,  without  my  knowing  it,  reciting  a  piece 
of  poetry  I  had  learnt  by  heart.  Our  old  friend 
spoke  to  me  of  his  memory,  which  was  failing  him. 
He  advised  me  to  cultivate  mine.  This  little 
chance  shaped  my  life.  He  realized  that  I  recited 
those  few  verses  well.  For  amusement  he  gave 
me  others  to  learn.     I  was  fifteen  years  old,  and 


74  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

he  teated  me  without  any  more  ceremony  than 
he  would  his  own  niece.  After  my  second  effort 
at  reciting  he  had  a  long  conversation  with  mother. 
We  were  poor.  We  might  become  worse  off  still. 
We  had  nothing  to  expect  from  our  relatives,  who 
had  been  very  hard  on  my  poor  father.  A  talent 
is  a  livelihood,  and  to-day  the  stage  is  a  career 
like  painting  and  literature.  The  days  of  preju- 
dice are  past.  You  can  imagine  the  arguments 
of  the  old  Parisian  and  my  mother's  objections. 
But  the  latter  could  not  outweigh  the  authority 
our  friend  had  acquired  over  us  by  remaining  faith- 
ful to  us.  We  had  been  so  utterly  deserted  by  our 
other  friends,  though  perhaps  it  was  partly  our 
own  fault.  Mother  was  so  proud  !  The  joy  I 
displayed  when  I  was  consulted  was  what  tinally 
convinced  mother.  That  was  how  I  first  went  to 
a  professor  and  then  to  the  Conservatoire,  which 
I  left  three  years  ago  with  two  first  prizes.  An 
engagement  at  the  Odéon  was  followed  directly 
by  one  at  the  Vaudeville  ;  and  now  you  know  as 
much  as  I  do  about  Camille  Favier." 

"  About  Mademoiselle  Favier,"  I  corrected 
her,  "  but  not  about  Camille." 

"  Ah,  Camille  !  "  she  repUed,  releasing  my  arm 
as  if  an  irresistible  instinct  made  her  recoil. 
"  Camille  is  a  person  who  has  never  had  much 
good  sense,  and  now  she  has  still  less  than  she 
used  to  have,"  she  added  with  a  melancholy  and 
arch  nod  of  the  head,  a  gesture  I  always  noticed 
her  make  in  times  of  emotion. 

"  Without  a  doubt  I  take  after  my  dear  father 


THE   BLUE  DIT  HESS  75 

who  had  no  good  sense  at  all,  I  have  been  told,  for 
he  married  mother  for  love,  and  that  his  brothers, 
sisters  and  cousins  never  forgave.  Poor  father 
and  poor  Camille  !  But  you  can  see  " — she  said 
this  with  a  smile — "that  I  have  no  good  sense  at  all 
by  my  telling  you  this  after  an  acquaintance  of 
two  hours.  I  have  a  theory,  however,  that  friend- 
ship is  hke  love,  it  either  comes  all  at  once  or  not 
at  all." 

"  In  my  case  you  have  realized  that  it  has 
come  ?"  I  said  to  her. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  with  almost  grave  simplicity 
as  she  took  my  arm  again  and  pressed  it  against 
her  own.  "  You  would  like  to  ask  me  about  my 
feelings  for  Jacques  ?  I  guessed  as  much,  and  you 
dare  not.  I  should  like  to  explain  to  you,  but 
I  don't  know  how.  As  I  have  begun  to  tell  you 
everything,  I  will  try.  It  seems  to  me  that  you 
will  not  think  so  badl}^  of  me  afterwards,  and  I 
don't  want  you  to  think  badly  of  me.  I  must  go 
back  to  the  beginning  again.  I  have  told  you 
how  and  why  I  entered  the  Conservatoire.  It  is  a 
curious  but  not  very  well-known  place  where  there 
is  everything,  from  the  very  good  to  the  very 
bad,  corruption  and  artlessness,  intrigues,  youth, 
exasperated  vanity,  and  enthusiasm.  During  the 
years  I  spent  there,  this  enthusiasm  for  the  stage 
was  my  romance.  Yes,  I  had  the  frenzy  and  fever 
for  being  one  day  a  great  actress,  and  I  worked. 
How  I  worked  !  Then  as  one  does  not  reach  the 
age  of  eighteen  without  dreaming,  without  ears 
to  hear   and  eyes  to  see,  on  the  day  I  left  there 


76  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

you  can  understand,  if  I  was  virtuous  it  was  not 
the  virtue  of  ignorance.  I  had  seen,  I  think,  as 
many  ugly  happenings  as  I  shall  see  in  the  course 
of  my  life.  I  shall  not  be  courted  more  brutally 
than  I  was  by  some  of  my  companions,  nor  more 
hypocritically  than  by  some  of  the  professors. 
I  shall  not  receive  more  depraved  advice  than  I 
did  then  from  some  of  my  friends,  nor  less  enchant- 
ing confidences.  But  my  environment  has  never 
had  much  influence  over  me.  What  I  was  told 
went  in  at  one  ear  and  out  of  the  other.  I  Insten 
to  the  little  inner  voice  of  conscience  which  speaks 
to  me  when  I  am  alone.  It  was  this  little  voice 
which  whispered  to  me  '  yes  '  at  once  when  our 
old  friend  spoke  of  the  stage.  It  was  the  little 
voice  which  prevented  me  succumbing  to  the 
temptations  by  which  I  was  surrounded.  Don't 
you  think  the  counsels  of  this  httle  voice  were 
very  good  ones  ?  Think  what  a  task  it  was  for  a 
girl  of  my  age  :  always  repeating  words  of  love, 
putting  the  accents  of  love  into  my  voice,  and 
giviiig  to  my  face  and  gestures  the  expressions  of 
love.  At  this  acting,  a  woman  ends  by  catching 
the  fever  of  the  parts  she  plays.  A  wish  to  taste 
on  one's  own  account  the  sentiments  one  has  tried 
so  often  to  depict  arises.  I  cannot  explain  that 
to  you,  but  without  a  doubt  I  was  born  for  the 
stage,  where  I  cannot  pla}^  a  part  without  almost 
becoming  that  person  I  represent,  and  when  I 
have  to  say  to  another  character 

•  I  feel  that  I   love  you,' 


THE  ELITE  DUCHESS  77 

you  don't  know  how  I  sometimes  desire  to  say 
this  sweet  caressing  phrase  on  my  own  account." 

"  Alas  !  "  I  answered  her  when  she  was  silent, 
"  that  is  our  story  to  every  one.  We  read  of  this 
feeling  in  books.  There  is  something  contagious 
in  a  poet's  suffering.  We  imitate  them  uncon- 
sciously, and  we  are  sincere  in  this  imitation.  All 
this  once  more  proves  that  the  heart  is  a  very 
complicated  machine." 

"  More  complicated  than  you  think,"  she  said 
with  a  knowing  smile,  "  when  it  concerns  a  girl 
who  lives  as  I  lived.  I  have  told  you  that  I 
was  madly  enthusiastic  over  my  art.  Why  did 
I  decide,  in  my  own  poor  head,  that  this  art  is  not 
compatible  with  the  middle-class  respectability  of 
a  regular  existence,  and  that  prosaic  and  monoton- 
ous virtue  is  the  enemy  of  talent  ?  I  don't  know 
how  to  explain  it  to  you,  but  it  is  like  this.  I  was 
convinced  that  no  one  could  be  a  great  artiste 
without  passion.  Even  now  I  don't  think  I  was 
wrong.  This  evening,  for  example,  I  acted  my 
last  scene  as  I  have  never  done  before.  There 
was  nervousness  in  all  my  words  and  gestures. 
I  gave  myself  up  to  my  part  madly  !  Why  ? 
Because  I  had  seen  Jacques  leave  your  box  and 
I  did  not  understand.  If  you  only  knew  what 
anguish  I  suffered  at  the  moment  I  looked  at  that 
frightful  Madam  de  Bonnivet's  box  !  How  I  hate 
that  woman  !  She  is  my  bad  genius  and  that  of 
Jacques  as  well.  You  see,  if  she  had  left  the 
theatre  before  the  end  of  the  play  with  her  fool 
of  a  husband,  I  should  have  thought  that  she  and 


78  THE   BLUE  DUCHESS 

Jacques  had  gone  away  together  ;  I  should  have 
fallen  down  on  the  stage.  Forgive  me,  I  will  go 
on  with  my  story  if  it  does  not  weary  you.  All 
these  romantic,  confused  and  vague  sentiments 
which  moved  in  me  while  I  worked  hard  at  my 
studies  on  leaving  the  Conservatoire,  are  summed 
up  in  a  dream  at  which  I  beg  you  not  to  laugh  too 
much.  Yes,  all  the  sorrows  and  joys  of  love,  all 
the  emotions  which  must  exalt  the  artiste  and 
make  me  into  a  rival  of  Rachel,  Desclée,  Sarah 
Bernhardt  and  Julia  Bartet,  I  desired  to  feel  for 
some  one  whom  they  would  exalt  while  they 
exalted  me,  for  a  man  of  genius  whom  I  would 
inspire  in  inspiring  myself,  and  who  would  write 
sublime  plays  which  I  should  afterwards  act  with 
a  genius  equal  to  his  own.  How  difficult  it  is  to 
clearly  describe  what  one  feels  !  I  am  searching 
for  a  name  in  the  history  of  the  theatre  which 
will  explain  to  you  these  chimeras  more  clearly 
than  my  poor  gossip." 

■'  You  would  have  liked  to  be  a  Champmeslè  ; 
to  meet  Racine  and  create  for  him  '  Phèdre  '  after 
posing  to  him,"  I  interrupted. 

"  That  is  it."  she  said  quickly.  ■'  That  is  it. 
Yes,  Champmeslè  and  Racine  ;  or  Rachel  and 
Alfred  de  Musset,  the  Rachel  of  the  supper  if  she 
had  loved  him.  Yes.  To  meet  a  writer,  a  poe<, 
who  needed  to  feel  before  he  could  write,  to  make 
him  feel,  to  feel  with  him,  to  incarnate  the  creations 
of  his  talent  on  the  stage,  and  thus  go  through  the 
world  together,  and  attain  glory  together  in  a 
legend  of  Jnye,  that  was  my  dream.     Do  you  think 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  79 

there  can  be  blue  enough  for  the  heavens  and 
your  pictures  in  the  head  of  a  httle  actress,  who 
rehearses  her  part  in  an  old  street  in  the  Faubourg 
Saint  Germain  by  her  old  mother's  side,  with 
imagination  as  her  only  stage  property  ?  Such 
a  desire  is  an  absurdity,  a  chimera,  a  lolly.  But 
I  thought  I  could  grasp  this  chimera  and  realize 
this  folly  when  chance  threw  me  in  the  path  of 
Jacques.  I  should  realize  it,  if  he  only  loved  me  ;  " 
and  in  a  deeply  moved  voice,  with  a  sigh,  she  re- 
peated,  "if  he  loved  me  !  " 

"  But  he  does  love  you,"  I  answered  her.  "  If 
you  had  heard  him  speak  of  you  this  evening." 

"  Do  not  hope  to  mislead  me,"  she  said  seriously 
and  sadly.  "  I  know  very  well  that  he  does  not 
love  me.  He  loves  the  love  I  have  for  him,  but 
how  long  will  it  last  ?  " 


CHAPTER    IV 

HOW  distinct  the  least  important  words  of 
this  conversation  have  remained  in  my 
memory  with  their  gay  or  sad,  sentimental  or 
bantering,  disabused  or  tender  intonation  !  I 
could  continue  to  note  down  pages  and  pages  of 
details  without  weariness.  It  seems  to  me,  while 
writing  this  upon  cold  mute  paper,  that  the  clock 
has  gone  backwards  and  it  is  once  more  the  time 
when  the  conversation  ended,  too  soon  for  my 
liking,  and  we  reached  the  house  in  the  Rue  de 
la  Barouillère.  I  can  see  myself  saying  good-bye 
to  Camille  before  the  massive  door  which  a  sleepy 
porter  was  very  slow  in  opening.  I  think  I  can 
hear  the  sound  of  the  bell  and  feel  the  warmth  of 
her  little  feverish  hand  in  mine,  while  I  wished  her 
good-bye  and  she  appeared  to  me,  in  the  light  of 
the  moon,  like  an  adorable  phantom  ever  disappear- 
ing. She  half  closes  her  fine  eyes  which  were 
heavy  with  sleep,  she  bows  her  head  with  a  smile, 
she  puts  her  finger  to  her  mouth  with  a  malicious 
gesture,  to  remind  me  to  be  discreet  over  the  con- 
fidences she  had  entrusted  to  me.  Her  little  head 
and  long  cloak  disappeared  in  the  darkness  and 
the  door  closed  with,  a  dull  sound. 

80 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  8i 

Unconsciously  I  listened  for  a  moment  longer.  I 
stretched  out  my  hand  to  clasp  hers  and  felt  instead 
a  metal  object,  the  lamp  which  was  left  for  her 
every  evening.  A  match  was  struck,  a  hasty  step 
sounded,  and  another  door,  the  staircase  door, 
closed.  That  was  all,  so  I  went  towards  home  in 
the  pale  moonlight  along  streets  deserted  except 
for  a  few  stray  cats  and  dogs,  a  few  policemen 
on  their  beats,  a  belated  cab,  and  a  group  of  young 
artists  just  leaving  a  café  in  the  Boulevard  Saint 
Michel,  which  were  the  only  things  which  testified 
to  the  existence  of  life  in  the  great  sleeping  man- 
sions, dark  convents,  the  little  houses  with  a  single 
jet  of  gas  burning,  and  the  black,  sinister-looking 
hospitals.  This  quarter  is  really  one  of  the  suburbs 
of  Paris,  though  it  is  so  near  the  densely  populated 
Boulevards,  just  as  Camille's  peaceful  life  with  her 
mother  is  so  near  her  passionate  stage  life. 

It  had  only  taken  us  three  quarters  of  an  hour 
to  return  from  the  theatre,  though  our  pace  was 
unequal,  sometimes  slow  and  sometimes  rapid,  as 
if  we  were  hastening  ov^er  our  confidences.  It  took 
me  less  time  to  reach  the  little  house  on  the  Boule- 
vard des  Invalides  where  I  live,  though  I  wandered 
aimlessly  in  this  deserted  part  overwhelmed  by  a 
trouble  for  which  I  could  scarcely  blame  myself. 
That  sudden  burning  of  the  inner  being,  that 
handling  and  interminable  repetition  of  phrases 
which  one  has  just  heard,  that  obsession  of  thought 
at  the  same  time  pleasing  and  terrifying,  that 
occupation  as  if  by  force  by  a  creature  to  whom 
one  was  the  previous  evening  and  the  same  day  a 


82  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

perfect  stranger — these  are  the  signs  which  denote 
the  fatal  fever,  malaria  of  the  soul,  which  takes 
longer  to  cure  than  other  and  more  dangerous 
maladies. 

"  A  good  night's  sleep,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  and 
to-morrow  these  foolish  ideas  will  be  gone  ;  besides 
she  is  a  friend's  mistress.  I  know  myself.  The 
thought  of  their  caresses  simply  would  prevent 
me  from  becoming  amorous  of  her,  if  I  deshed  to. 
But  I  shall  not  have  this  desire.  She  has  moved 
me  this  evening  in  her  real  life  as  she  moved 
me  at  the  theatre,  as  she  would  have  moved  me  in 
a  novel.  But  that  is  pure  imagination.  To-mor- 
row I  shall  not  think  of  her,  and  if  I  think  of  her, 
I  shall  not  see  her  nor  Molan  again.   That  is  all." 

Pure  imagination  is  an  expression  easily  used. 
But  is  there  not  a  profound  and  very  sensible  point 
by  which  this  imagination  touches  our  heart,  is 
our  heart  in  fact  ?  When  a  woman's  grace  has 
wounded  this  point,  we  always  discover  motives 
why  we  should  not  remain  faithful  to  the  prudent 
programme  of  not  seeing  her  again.  The  fact  was, 
I  began  by  not  having  the  good  night's  sleep  I 
promised  myself,  and  when  I  awakened  from  my 
morning  doze  I  thought  of  Camille  Favier  with  as 
much  troubled  interest  as  I  had  done  the  evening 
before.  I  at  once  found  a  pretext  for  breaking  my 
good  resolution  not  to  see  either  her  or  Molan 
again.  Had  I  not  promised  Jacques  to  inform  him 
as  to  the  success  or  otherwise  of  his  scheme  ?  All 
the  same,  it  was  not  without  remorse  that  about 
ten  o'clock  I  set  out  to  fulfil  my  strange  mission. 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  83 

I  had  forgotten  the  previous  evening  that  I  had 
a  model  coming  at  ten.  A  girl  called  Malvina 
came  to  pose  for  my  never-ending  "  Psyché 
pardonnée."  When  I  sent  her  away  I  heard  the 
little  inner  voice,  of  which  on  the  previous  evening 
Camille  had  prettily  spoken,  whisper  :  "  Coward  ! 
Coward  !  "  But  even  without  the  little  voice, 
did  not  the  presence  of  this  creature  demonstrate 
to  me  the  absurdity  of  my  incipient  sentiment  ? 
Malvina  had,  too,  like  Camille,  the  ideal  head  for 
the  primitive  Madonna,  and  she  was  pleasure  per- 
sonified. Her  mouth,  which  looked  so  beautiful 
in  its  silent  smile,  only  opened  to  retail  obscenity. 
What  a  good  plan  it  is  never  to  believe  in  the  be- 
witching charm  of  a  face  !  Fate  has  warnings  like 
this  for  us  Nvhich  we  disregard  with  an  obscure 
feeling  of  the  irreparable.  After  Malvina  had  gone 
I  looked  round  my  studio,  at  the  unfinished  canvas, 
my  colour  box,  my  palette,  and  I  went  out  pursued 
by  their  mute  reproach.     Why  did  I  not  listen  ! 

To  reach  the  Rue  Delaborde,  where  Jacques 
Molan  lived,  I  had  fortunately  to  traverse  a  nice 
part  of  Paris,  of  the  sort  to  distract  my  attention. 
I  know  it  so  well  from  making  numerous  studies 
of  it  when  I  was  preoccupied,  as  the  critics  say 
when  they  are  looking  on  our  pictures  for  an  oppor- 
tunity to  theorize  and  be  modern.  That  is  finished 
as  far  as  I  am  concerned.  It  has  profited  me  all 
the  same  ;  for  if  I  no  longer  think  a  picture  ought  to 
represent  freaks  of  light  without  significance,  or 
bodies  of  human  life  without  essential  value.  I  have 
kept  for  these  studies  a  keener  taste,  a  more  refined 


84  THE  RTAIE  DUCHESS 

sense  of  certain  landscapes,  those  of  the  Seine,  for 
example,  the  Tuileries,  and  the  Place  de  la  Concorde. 
I  love  them  especially  in  their  morning  tints  which 
give  them  a  tender  freshness,  distinct  water-colour 
transparencies,  with  a  thrill  of  alert  activity.  That 
morning,  though  my  nerves  were  still  quivering 
with  the  intoxication  of  my  new-born  passion,  the 
water  of  the  river  seemed  to  me  fresher  than  ever  ; 
the  grey-blue  of  the  sky  more  delicate  above  the 
leafless  trees  ;  the  water  of  the  fountains  more 
sparkling  with  a  whiter  and  more  noisy  foam.  My 
over-excited  being  more  readily  appreciated  the 
charm  of  the  trees,  houses,  and  flowing  water.  I 
unconsciously  forgot  my  wise  resolution  and  my 
remorse  at  leaving  my  work,  to  picture  to  myself  the 
renewal  of  the  soul  which  a  liaison  such  as  the  one 
satiated  Jacques  Molan  held  so  cheaply  would 
instil  into  me.  Then  the  irresistible  demon  of 
irony  took  possession  of  me. 

"  Yes,"  I  actually  or  almost  said  to  myself, 
"  what  a  dream  it  would  be  to  be  loved  by  a  woman 
like  Camille  !  Just  free  enough  to  give  long  hours 
to  her  lover  and  not  free  enough  to  absorb  his  time  ; 
enough  of  an  artist  to  understand  the  most  delicate 
and  subtle  shades  of  impression  ;  natural  enough  to 
be  amused  at  the  Bohemian  caprices,  which  are 
so  savoury  when  they  are  not  accompanied  by 
misery  ;  enthusiastic  enough  for  a  constant  en- 
couragement to  work  to  emanate  from  her,  and 
too  spontaneous,  too  sincere  to  ever  drive  you  to 
that  slavery  to  success,  which  is  the  fatal  influence 
of  so  niiny  mistresses  and  mves.     And  then  what 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  85 

an  adorable  lover  she  would  be  !  Was  it  a  rare 
tint  of  soul,  which  the  story  she  told  me  yesterday 
had,  and  was  it  different  from  the  ones  in  the  heads 
of  her  little  friends  ?  A  rich  protector  and  much 
advertisement  is  the  usual  ideal  of  such  girls  ! 
The  only  actress  who  thinks  differently  must  needs 
meet  with  Molan,  the  cold  machine  for  producing 
prolific  copy.  But  what  is  the  use  of  my  under- 
standing and  appreciating  her  like  this,  when  I 
am  on  my  way  to  contribute  to  the  closeness  of 
their  intimacy  ?  What  absurd  chance  made  me 
meet  Jacques  yesterday  evening  ?  That  must 
happen  to  me  :  it  is  the  symbol  of  our  whole  lives, 
his  and  mine.  I  am,  or  rather  am  ready  to  be,  the 
man  who  really  loves  ;  he  is  the  lover.  I  have  the 
sensibility  of  a  real  artist,  while  he  achieves  works 
and  reaps  the  glory  of  them.  Meanwhile  I  am 
wasting  a  very  clear  morning  and  my  picture  is  at 
a  standstill.  Ah,  I  shall  soon  be  back  and  I  will 
send  for  Malvina.  I  will  work  all  the  afternoon,  I 
will  make  up  for  lost  time.  Directly  my  commission 
is  executed  I  will  hurry  away.  I  am  rather  curious 
to  see  how  the  animal  is  lodged.  He  must  be  making 
just  now  from  80,000  to  100,000  francs  a  year, 
and  it  is  a  great  change  from  his  former  position." 
It  was  a  long  time  since  I  had  called  upon  my 
old  friend.  While  the  lift-man  whisked  me  up  to 
the  second  floor,  where  he  lived,  of  a  large  new  house 
with  bow  windows  of  coloured  glass,  I  recalled  the 
numerous  quarters  where  I  had  known  this  author, 
who  was  such  a  clever  administrator  of  his  wealth 
and  talents,  and  ran  over  in  my  mind  his  rapid 


86  THE   BLUE  DUCHESS 

advance  along  the  highway  of  Parisan  glory. 
First  of  all  on  leaving  college  he  had  a  little  furnished 
room  in  the  Rue  Monsieur  le  Prince.  A  portrait 
of  Baudelaire  by  Félicien  Rops  and  a  few  bad 
medallions  by  David  constituted  the  personal 
furniture  of  this  retreat.  The  fastidious  arrange- 
ment of  the  books,  papers  and  pens  on  the  table 
already  testified  to  the  worker's  strong  will. 

Jacques'  only  resource  then  was  a  small  income 
of  150  francs  a  month  allowed  him  by  his  only 
relative,  an  old  grandmother,  who  lived  in  the 
Provinces,  and  to  whom  he  behaved  like  a  grateful 
grandson.  I  saw  him  weep  real  tears  when  she 
died,  and  then  he  put  her  into  a  book.  Strange  to 
say,  that  was  the  only  one  of  his  books  which  was 
really  bad.  Could  it  be  that  talent  of  writing  is 
only  nourished  by  imaginative  sensibility,  which, 
to  be  realized,  has  need  of  expression,  whereas  real 
sensibility  exhausts  itself  and  comes  to  an  end 
through  its  own  reality  ?  Happily  for  him,  in  the 
early  years  of  his  literary  life  he  only  depicted 
sentiments  which  he  had  not.  His  first  volume, 
so  elegant  and  yet  so  brutal,  was,  strange  to  say, 
scrawled  in  this  Latin  Quarter  garret.  His  joining 
the  staff  of  a  Boulevard  paper  and  a  change  of 
residence  showed  that  the  writer  did  not  intend 
to  vegetate  in  the  same  narrow  circle.  He  took 
rooms  in  the  Rue  de  Bellechasse  still  on  the  left 
bank  of  the  river,  but  now  very  close  to  the  right 
bank.  The  portrait  of  Baudelaire  still  remained, 
to  proclaim  his  fidelity  to  his  early  artistic  con- 
victions ;  but  now  it  was  framed  in  velvet  and  hung 


THE  BLDi^  DUCHESS  87 

upon  red  Adrianople  tapestry,  which  gave  to  this 
retreat  an  air  of  a  padded  shelter.  This  counter- 
balanced the  lack  of  artistic  character  in  the  furni- 
ture, which  was  on  the  hire  system  and  very  solid 
and  commonplace,  without  any  other  pretension 
than  the  quality  of  its  old  oak.  The  noted  trader 
in  literary  wares,  which  Molan  was,  betrayed  him- 
self by  his  choice  of  durable  furniture  and  a  well 
made  desk  never  likely  to  need  repair.  His  success 
still  increased,  and  the  period  of  the  little  house 
at  Passy  came,  though  directly  afterwards  the 
house  became  unsuitable. 

Jacques  had  not  been  there  eighteen  months 
when  the  opulent  and  final  abode  of  the  successful 
man  took  its  place.  The  anteroom  where  I  was 
received  by  a  little  page  in  livery  was  sufficient  to 
convince  me.  A  commissionaire,  whom  I  seemed 
to  have  seen  stationed  in  my  own  neighbourhood, 
was  in  attendance.  I  was  shown  into  a  large 
smoking-room  which  adjoined  a  small  study  and 
contained  a  case  full  of  rare  curios,  consisting  of  old 
Chinese  lacquer-work,  admirable  sixteenth  century 
bronzes,  polished  boxes,  statuettes  from  Saxony, 
and  old  sweetmeat  boxes.  The  dissimilarity  of  the 
objects  expressed  Molan's  utilitarian  ideas.  He 
studied  the  possibility  of  sale  in  case  of  misfortune. 
A  few  pictures  decorated  the  walls,  but  they  were 
all  modern  with  the  most  excessive  and  extrava- 
gant modernity.  Paintings  by  an  obscure  con- 
temporary sometimes  turn  out  a  good  investment, 
for  he  may  be  a  Millet  or  a  Corot.  It  is  a  ticket 
in  a  lottery,  but  the  prize  is  a  good  one.     Molan 


»s  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

bought  these  pictures  for  a  few  pounds  from  young 
painters  in  distress,  and  received  them  as  a  return 
for  a  httle  advertisement. 

But  it  was  necessary  to  know  him  as  I  knew  him 
to  understand  the  use  of  this  smoking-room,  which 
was  destined  by  the  fashionable  author  for  show, 
for  interviews  and  receptions.  Its  significant 
feature  was  order,  implacable,  studied  and  fas- 
tidious order.  Everything  displayed  this  order, 
but  most  of  all  the  arrangement  of  the  books  on 
the  book-shelves.  The  books  themselves  were  all 
the  work  of  young  colleagues,  who  would  be  flat- 
tered by  seeing  their  works  bound  in  colours 
appropriate  to  their  talents,  the  colourists  in  red, 
the  elegists  in  mauve,  and  the  stylists  in  Japanese 
paper.  The  brilliant  new  silver  articles,  the  fresh- 
ness of  the  Havanna  carpet  and  many  other  little 
things  showed  the  eye  of  a  master  difficult  to  please, 
whose  wishes  extended  to  the  smallest  detail  with- 
out ever  being  satisfied.  The  conversation  that 
the  author  had  with  me  the  previous  evening 
concerning  his  investments  came  back  to  my  mind, 
and  I  thought  he  had  told  me  the  truth.  He  him- 
self entered,  manicured,  shaved,  with  keen  eyes, 
a  fresh  colour,  and  wearing  the  most  delightful 
lounge  coat  that  ever  a  tailor  of  genius  had  made 
for  a  man  about  town.  He  had  in  his  hand  a  quill 
pen  which  he  showed  me  beiore  throwing  it  into 
the  fire,  saying — 

"  Have  I  kept  3'ou  waiting  ?  I  had  to  finish  my 
third  page.  If  I  do  one  page  more  by  half-past 
twelve  I  shall  have  done  my  day's  work.     Four 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  89 

pages  a  day,  whether  it  is  a  novel  or  a  play,  is  my 
method,"  a:nd  pointing  out  to  me  a  long  row  of 
books  not  so  tastefully  bound  as   the   others  : 
"  And  that  is  the  result." 

"  Can  you  leave  and  resume  your  work  when  you 
please  ?"  I  asked  him. 

"  ^Vhen  I  like.  It  is  force  of  habit,  you  see.  I 
have  regulated  my  brain  as  a  gas  meter  is  regulated. 
Does  the  comparison  scandalize  you  ?  You  have, 
as  I  have  done,  meditated  upon  these  words  of  a 
great  master  :  '  Patience  is  that  which  in  man  most 
resembles  the  proceeding  which  nature  employs 
in  her  creations.'  Almost  automatic  regularity  is 
the  secret  of  talent  !  But  let  us  talk  of  your 
errand  last  evening  to  Camille.  There  was  much 
weeping  and  gnashing  of  teeth,  was  there 
not  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  I  replied,  rather  pleased  at  being 
able  to  disconcert  his  fatuity;  "she  did  not  even 
question  me  in  order  not  to  make  me  tell  lies." 

"  Yes,"  he  said  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders, 
"  that  delicacy  is  just  like  her.  We  live  in  an 
amusing  time.  You  meet  with  a  woman  of 
exquisite  sentiment,  and  a  delightfully  fine  heart. 
She  turns  out  to  be  a  poor  little  actress.  Another 
woman  with  an  income  of  200,000  francs,  coming 
of  a  good  family,  bearing  a  famous  name,  beautiful, 
and  with  a  position  in  society,  is  a  bad  actress. 
But  if  the  little  one  is  romantic,  she  is  shrewdly 
romantic.  She  had  scruples  about  making  you 
speak,  so  as  not  to  ask  you  to  betray  a  friend. 
Then  she  turned  to  the  right  place  to  learn  the 


Qo  THE  BLUE  DITHESS 

truth.  She  sent  an  express  message  to  Fomberteau 
this  morning." 

"  Did  you  not  foresee  that  ?  " 

"  I  reckoned  on  calHng  upon  her  when  I  went 
out.  She  was  too  quick  for  me.  Fomberteau 
sent  her  this  reply,"  and  he  took  a  piece  of  paper 
from  his  pocket.  "  Imagine  Camille  as  she  read 
this  "— 

"  '  Dear  friend,  I  had  no  duel  to  fight.  Your 
Jacques  therefore  was  not  my  second.  Except 
that,  all  the  rest  is  true.  Set  your  mind  at  rest 
regarding  both  of  us,  and  as  it  is  press  day  please 
excuse  me  from  coming  in  person  to  thank  you 
for  your  kind  anxiety.'  To  this  Camille  has  added 
a  postscript  :  '  As  you  gave  me  an  explanation 
yesterday  which  was  not  true,  I  have  the  right  to 
another  one,  the  true  one,  and  I  am  waiting  for  it.'  " 

"  What  time  did  you  get  this  letter?  "  I  asked 
him. 

"  About  twenty-five  minutes  ago.  The  messen- 
ger is  waiting.  I  wanted  to  see  you  and  know  what 
she  said  to  you.  She  has  lost  nothing  by  waiting. 
I  am  going  to  reply  to  her  in  my  best  style." 

"  I  should  be  curious,"  I  said,  "  to  know  by 
what  new  scheme  you  will  excuse  yourself." 

"  I  !  "  he  replied  as  he  sat  down  at  a  little  table 
and  began  to  write,  "  by  none.  I  am  teUing  her 
that  I  have  not  the  least  explanation  to  give  her, 
and  I  do  not  wish  her  to  allow  herself  another  time 
to  play  tricks  upon  me  as  she  did  when  she  sent  to 
Fomberteau." 

"  You   will   not   do   that,"   I   interrupted  him 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  gt 

quickly.  "  The  poor  girl  loves  you  with  all  her 
heart.  She  could  not  bear  the  doubt.  She 
thought  you  were  lying  to  her  and  she  wanted  to 
know  the  truth.  Come,  is  not  that  natural  ? 
Ha-d  she  not  the  right  ?  Be  just.  It  is  so  simple  to 
find  another  excuse.  Rather  tell  her  the  truth 
as  she  asks  for  it  ;   it  will,  too,  be  less  trouble." 

"  There  is  only  one  slight  objection,"  Jacques 
replied  as  he  fastened  the  note,  rang  the  electric 
bell  to  summon  the  messenger,  and  gave  it  to  him, 
"  and  it  is  that  I  should  be  perfectly  happy  if  Camille 
quarrelled  with  me.  That  is,  too,  another  prin- 
ciple as  absolute  as  the  regularity  of  work.  When 
a  man  wishes  to  break  with  his  mistress,  the  more 
insignificant  Ihe  motive  the  better.  My  progress 
is  so  good  in  the  other  direction  that  I  don't  need 
her  any  longer  to  urge  on  her  rival.  As  you  are 
my  '  beater,'  and  I  know  that  you  are  as  silent  as 
a  tomb,  I  will  tell  you  everything  in  spite  of  those 
noble  phrases  about  discretion,  more  especially  as 
up  to  the  present  this  confidence  only  compromises 
me.  Last  evening  I  obtained  an  appointment 
from  Madam  de  Bonnivet.  You  would  never  guess 
the  place  though,  not  in  a  thousand  times.  At 
Père  Lachaise,  before  the  tomb  of  Musset  like  the 
other  girl.  You  don't  think  that  is  very  grand, 
do  you  ?  From  the  cemetery  to  the  carriage  is 
like  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous,  and  it  is  only  one 
step,  and  from  the  carriage  to  a  place  of  my  acquain- 
tance is  the  programme  and  only  another  step. 
For  you  know  one  never  ought  to  take  a  woman 
to  one's  own  home.     Under  these  circumstances 


92  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

Camille  quarrels  with  me,  so  much  the  better  ! 
But  don't  look  at  me  as  if  you  would  like  to  say  : 
'  My  dear  Molan,  you  are  a  monster.'  " 

If  I  had  still  doubted  the  keen  sentiment  in- 
spired in  me  by  the  charming  Camille,  the  doubt 
would  have  been  swept  away  by  the  cruel  emotion 
I  experienced  at  this  cynical  speech.  I  could  see 
the  reality  of  the  drama  in  which  I  was  concerned 
as  a  witness  ;  as  in  some  duels  the  sight  of  a  life 
very  dear  to  him  in  danger  makes  the  second  paler 
than  the  duellist,  Little  Favier's  passionate  love 
served  Jacques  as  an  attack  upon  the  vanity  of  the 
hlasé  woman  of  the  world  who  was  coquettish 
and  coldly  perverse  without  doubt,  but  also  elegant, 
envied  and  rich,  and  afterwards  whom  his  vanity 
and  curiosity  attracted.  The  heart  of  the  poor 
little  actress  which  had  remained  naïve  and  roman- 
tic in  spite  of  his  disenchanting  existence,  her  true 
heart — which  I  had  felt  to  be  so  true,  which  had 
opened  with  such  spontaneity  in  an  hour  of  inward 
suffering — was  about  to  be  broken,  torn  and 
crushed  between  two  prides  fighting  one  against 
the  other — and'  what  prides  they  were  ! 

This  most  ferocious  and  implacable  of  all  prides, 
that  of  an  almost  great  lady  and  an  almost  great 
author,  both  gangrened  with  egoism  by  their 
habitual  display,  was  withered  by  their  constant 
and  detestable  study  of  the  effect  produced,  with- 
out which  a  person  does  not  retain  the  world's  un- 
certain prestige.  By  frightfully  certain  intuition, 
I  at  once  measured  the  depth  of  the  abyss  in 
which  my  friend  of  the  previous  evening  unknown 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  93 

to  herself  was  plunged.  The  extreme  clearness  of 
this  vision  prevented  me  answering  Jacques  with 
indignation,  as  he  no  doubt  expected  and  was 
prepared  to  amuse  himself  at  my  simplicity.  He 
would  have  chaffed  me,  and  that  would  have 
annoyed  me.  He  would  have  told  me  in  words  what 
his  enigmatic  smile  expressed.  "  If  she  pleases 
you  so  there  is  a  place  for  you  to  take  at  once  as 
her  consoler.  I  can  give  myself  the  credit  for 
not  using  that  ugly  expression.  But  I  lay  claim 
to  no  other  merit.  Is  there  any  merit  in  not  pro- 
faning in  oneself  an  image  which  only  pleases  when 
it  is  tender  and  pure  ?  Strange  though  it  may 
seem  to  apply  this  word  to  a  girl  whom  I  knew  to 
be  the  mistress  of  one  of  my  comrades,  I  respected 
in  Camille  that  foolish  illusion  by  which  her  twenty- 
two  years  risked  on  a  single  card  their  precious 
treasure  of  delicate  dreams,  naïve  tenderness  and 
noble  chimeras.  I  respected  in  her  the  dream 
which  she  had  already  made  me  dream. 

During  that  conversation  last  evening,  the 
inmost  depths  of  my  melancholy  had  trembled  at 
the  thought  that  had  I  met  her  a  little  sooner, 
before  she  gave  herself  to  Molan,  understood  and 
pleased  her,, perhaps  this  unreasonable  and  touch- 
ing child  would  have  turned  to  me  in  her  need  to 
lake  up  with  another  artist  those  ancient  and 
ridiculed  parts  of  muse  and  inspirer.  What 
maker  of  beauty,  however,  has  not  sighed  for  the 
presence  near  him  of  a  charming  woman's  mind, 
of  a  dear  and  devoted  face  from  which  to  drink 
in  courage  in  times  of  lassitude,  of  two  weak  but 


94  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

steady  liands  to  clasp  in  his  own  weary  ones,  or  a 
faithful  shoulder  on  which  to  rest  his  weary  brow. 
It  was  enough  to  have  associated  this  sigh  of  regret 
for  some  minutes  with  the  name  of  Jacques' 
mistress  for  the  hope  of  a  common  and  spiteful 
adventure  with  this  poor  girl  not  to  need  dismiss- 
ing. But  the  fact  of  my  not  nourishing  a  dirty 
gallant  project  did  not  prevent  my  sympathy, 
which  was  already  unhealthy,  growing  during  this 
talk  with  my  comrade.  That  is  why  instead  of 
writing  to  Malvina  the  model,  according  to  the 
wise  plan  formed  a  few  hours  before,  I  followed  my 
illogical  visit  of  the  morning  by  one  still  more 
illogical  in  the  afternoon,  and  that  imprudent  day 
terminated  by  a  third  also  foolish  visit.  An  attack 
of  irrationality  was  beginning.  It  is  not  over  yet 
as  my  pen  trembled  in  my  hand  at  recording 
Jacques'  brutal  phrases.  On  the  point  of  setting 
down  the  details  of  these  two  other  episodes  which 
finished  the  prologue  of  this  private  tragedy,  I 
had  to  put  down  the  pen.  I  had  a  pain  in  my 
memories,  just  as  a  person  suffers  from  a  badly- 
closed  wound.  Nevertheless,  by  a  contradiction 
which  I  suffered  without  being  able  to  explain,  a 
charm  arises  from  these  sorrowful  souvenirs,  a 
magic  and  an  attraction. 

The  second  visit  I  paid  was,  as  can  easily  be 
guessed,  to  the  poor  Blue  Duchess  herself,  as  I 
had  begun  to  call  her  in  my  heart  ;  and  I  forgot 
the  pedantic  reminiscence  which  had  inspired 
Jacques  Molan  with  this  name,  in  making  it  convey 
the  tender  grace,  and  th^e  fantastic  melancholy  of 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  95 

one  of  Watteau's  dreams  which  are  chimerical 
and  caressing,  ideal  and  voluptuous.  There  was 
certainly  no  more  difference  between  the  senti- 
mentalism  which  this  pretty  child  had  ingenuously 
confessed  to  me  on  the  previous  evening,  and  the 
practical  materialism  of  her  lover,  than  between 
the  sumptuous  new  house  in  the  Place  Delaborde 
and  the  third  floor  in  the  modest  Rue  de  la  Barouil- 
lère  where  I  rang  about  two  o'clock.  The  faded 
tints  of  the  badly  painted  front  harmonized  with 
the  sordidness  of  the  hall,  and  the  glacial  chill  of 
the  uncarpeted  wooden  staircase,  the  dirty  stairs 
of  which  sloped  towards  the  street.  An  air  of 
shabby  mediocrity  extended  over  the  old  building, 
and  the  common  visiting  cards  nailed  to  the  doors, 
at  which  I  was  curious  enough  to  look,  revealed 
what  sort  of  tenants  dragged  out  their  existence 
there.  These  poor  houses  abound  in  the  old  streets 
near  the  Faubourg  Saint  Germain,  and  as  the 
highest  rent  is  1,200  francs  they  are  the  last  havei? 
open  to  all  the  waifs  of  humble  middle-class  virtue. 
While  I  listened  to  the  bell  and  the  sound  of  ap- 
proaching footsteps  all  my  impressions  were 
moved  at  this  evidence  of  sentimental  analogy 
which  touched  me  still  more.  I  wished  to  dis- 
cover in  the  fact  that  the  already  well  known 
actress  continued  to  live  here  a  proof  that  she  had 
not  lied  to  me  when  she  spoke  of  her  mother's  and 
her  own  peaceful  life,  an  obvious  sign  of  a  total 
absence  of  vanity  and  an  indisputable  evidence  of 
her  pride.  If  she  had  ceased  to  be  modest,  she 
had  not  sold  herself  for  luxur3^     She  had  given 


9(5  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

herself  to  love  and  adoration.  Alas  !  I  was  very 
quickly  to  learn  that  the  temptation  for  great 
Parisan  elegance,  too  natural  to  a  fine  young  crea- 
ture when  she  has  known  and  lost  it,  still  composed 
one  of  the  elements  of  the  moral  drama  which  was 
being  enacted  in  her. 

While  these  thoughts  were  in  my  mind  the  door 
opened.  An  old  servant,  very  simply  dressed,  after 
some  hesitation  told  me  she  would  see  if  the  ladies 
were  at  home  and  showed  me  into  a  little  drawing- 
room.  It  was  full  of  furniture,  too  full  in  fact. 
If  I  had  raised  the  covers  from  the  furniture  I  should 
have  seen  that  the  quality  of  the  upholstery  and 
the  gilded  wood  betokened  former  opulence.  A 
beautiful  tapestry  covered  one  of  the  walls.  It 
had  been  necessary  to  double  it  up  to  adapt  it  to 
the  size  of  the  room,  the  ceiling  of  which  I  could 
almost  reach  with  my  cane.  The  grand  piano,  the 
great  bronze  clock,  and  the  too  lofty  candelabra 
had  also  come  from  a  financier's  mansion.  These 
mute  witnesses  of  vanished  splendour  told  by  their 
presence  alone  of  the  melancholy  of  the  ruin  with 
more  eloquence  than  any  phrases  could  do.  Be- 
sides, I  had  scarcely  time  to  meditate  upon  what 
Claude  Larcher,  in  his  evil  days  of  pedantry,  had 
called  the  psychology  of  this  furniture  before  a 
woman  of  about  fifty  entered  the  drawing-room. 
I  could  see  at  a  glance  that  she  was  Camille's 
mother. 

Madam  Favier  at  an  interval  of  a  quarter  of  a 
century  resembled  her  child  with  a  similarity  of 
features  which  became  almost  sad  in  its  aging  and 


THE  BLUE  DITCHESS  97 

deformation.  There  is  something  very  sorrowful 
in  finding  oneself  face  to  face  with  the  anticipated 
spectre  of  a  fine  young  beauty,  whom  one  admires 
and  is  beginning  to  love.  Still  the  mother's  and 
daughter's  expression  were  so  different  that  the 
likeness  was  at  once  corrected.  Just  as  Camille's 
blue  eyes,  with  their  pupils  in  turn  very  clear  or 
very  dark,  very  animated  and  very  languishing, 
revealed  a  passionate  inequality  of  soul,  and  pro- 
found troubles,  so  did  the  peaceful  and  sluggish 
azure  of  Madam  Favier's  eyes  tell  of  passive 
serenity,  resigned  acceptance,  and  above  all  happi- 
ness. This  woman,  the  widow  of  the  stock- 
broker, whose  life  ended  in  a  tragedy,  was  the 
image  of  internal  peace.  Seeing  her  as  I  saw  her, 
a  little  fat,  with  the  fresh  colour  of  health  in  her 
fuU  cheeks,  and  if  not  elegant  at  any  rate  very  taste- 
ful in  a  dress  which  was  almost  fashionable,  it  was 
impossible  at  first  to  imagine  that  this  woman  had 
endured  the  trials  of  a  drama,  of  ruin  and  suicide, 
and  that  this  tranquil  and  irreproachable  dowager 
was  simply  an  actress'  mother. 

But  we  have  changed  all  that,  as  my  friend  used 
to  say.  Did  I  myself  look  like  a  painter  who 
believed  in  the  ancient  traditions,  or  did  my  com- 
rades ?  Does  the  aspiring  clubman,  dressed  like 
a  tailor's  fashionplate  as  Jacques  Molan,  look 
any  more  like  Henry  Murger's  Bohemians  ?  But 
do  we  not  live  in  the  days  when  a  successful  play 
brings  in  an  income  for  years  equal  to  the  capital 
and  revenue  of  a  farm  in  Beauce,  when  the  portrait 
of  an  American  brings  in  15,000,  20,000,  or  30,000 

D 


98  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

francs,  and  when  an  associate  of  the  Comédie 
Française  draws  the  salary  of  an  Ambassador 
before  retiring  with  the  red  ribbon  in  his  button- 
hole, while  actresses  on  tour  abroad  are  received 
at  monarch's  receptions.  The  barrier  of  prejudices 
or  principles  which  separated  the  artistic  life  from 
the  world  of  society  has  been  broken  down,  to  the 
applause  of  the  democrats  and  progressives  ?  The 
example  of  Jacques  and  my  studies  have  convinced 
me  that  it  is  on  the  contrary  one  of  the  worst  errors 
of  the  period.  The  artist  has  always  gained  by 
being  treated  almost  like  an  outcast.  His  natural 
taste  for  the  brilliant,  which  is  the  inevitable  ran- 
som of  his  powers  of  imagination,  so  soon  turns  to 
vanity  when  it  is  the  dupe  of  decorum,  luxury 
and  the  praises  of  the  smart  woman  in  particular, 
which  is  also  a  flattery  iiTesistible  to  his  self-respect 
and  senses  !  When  he  does  not  succumb  to  the 
temptation,  he  goes  to  the  other  excess,  quite  as 
natural  to  this  irritable  class  and  no  less  dangerous, 
that  of  revolted  and  misanthropic  pride. 

But  I  am  falling  into  a  great  failing  of  mine,  that 
of  indefinite  and  never-ending  reverie.  Let  us  go 
back  to  that  which  remains  the  true  corrective  of 
all  vices,  intellectual  and  otherwise,  "  Reality." 
So  I  was  sitting  facing  the  respectable  Madam 
Fayier,  in  the  drawing-room  with  its  covered  up 
furniture,  with  a  rather  sheepish  look  at  finding 
myself  with  the  mother  when  I  had  come  to  see 
the  daughter.  The  widow,  however,  soon  reassured 
me  as  she  entertained  me  with  commonplace  con- 
versation suitable  to  her  appearance  and  birth. 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  99 

I  have  found  out  since  that  she  was  the  daughter 
of  a  small  business  man  in  the  north,  and  had  been 
married  for  her  beauty  by  the  romantic  father  of 
the  romantic  Camille  after  a  chance  meeting. 

"  Camille  is  coming  directly,"  she  said  to  me. 
"  The  dressmaker  is  with  her  trying  a  dress  on. 
The  poor  child  is  not  very  well  to-day.  Her  pro- 
fession, sir,  is  a  very  trjàng  one,  and  she  wants  a 
rest  already.  We  were  wrong  not  to  go  to  the  sea- 
side this  year.  Do  you  know  Yport,  sir  ?  It  is 
very  pretty,  and  very  quiet,  but  we  have  been 
there  six  summers.  I  like,  when  I  go  into  the 
country,  to  go  to  a  familiar  place.  You  are  so 
much  better  treated  if  you  do,  and  feel  more  at 
home.  When  my  dear  husband  was  ahve  we 
spent  two  months  every  year  in  Switzerland.  We 
always  went  on  July  16  and  came  back  on  Septem- 
ber 15.  I  have  never  been  there  since,  for  it  would 
bring  sad  memories  back  to  my  mind.  Have  you 
come  to  talk  to  Camille  about  her  portrait  ?  " 

"  Has  she  spoken  about  it  to  you  then  ?  She 
has  not  forgotten  ?"  I  said. 

"  No,  certainly  not,"  her  mother  answered, 
"  and  I  was  very  pleased  and  astonished  when 
she  told  me,  for  it  is  very  difficult  to  get  her  to  sit 
for  her  portrait.  Did  you  think  of  showing 
Camille's  portrait  at  the  annual  exhibition  of 
pictures  ?  It  will  be  an  excellent  thing,  I  think, 
for  you,  and  not  bad  for  her.  We  are  waiting, 
before  moving  back  to  our  old  neighbourhood 
where  we  have  a  few  friends,  till  CamiUe  has  signed 
a    definite     engagement.     The    Théâtre-Français 


100  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

has  offered  her  one,  but  as  they  let  her  go  after 
she  had  won  two  prizes,  she  has  been  advised  to 
make  them  pay  her  a  large  salary  now  she  is 
famous.  I  am  willing  for  her  to  do  so  ;  but  I  tell 
her  that  the  house  of  Molière  is  to  the  other 
theatres  what  a  great  shop  like  the  Louvre  or 
the  Bon  Marché  is  to  one  belonging  to  a  small 
retailer." 

I  am  not  quite  sure  I  am  reproducing  these 
phrases  in  their  right  order.  But  on  looking  at 
them  I  am  very  sure  of  their  tenor,  and  more 
so  still  of  the  mind  which  inspired  them,  as  well 
as  the  phrases  which  followed.  Poor  Madam 
Favier  was  so  simple  as  to  be  sometimes  almost 
common,  and  so  trusting  as  to  be  almost  loqua- 
cious. Her  mind  was  a  very  solid  and  sensible 
one  and  that  of  a  woman  who  had  retained  her 
good  sense  through  her  ruin.  This  phenomenon 
is  rarer  even  than  sentiment  in  an  actress.  Usually 
these  sudden  falls  from  the  Olympus  of  opulence 
have  as  a  result  a  moral  bewilderment  which  last 
for  the  rest  of  life.  Ruined  people  seem  to  lose 
with  their  money  every  faculty  of  adaptation  to 
the  narrow  circle  of  activity  in  which  their  social 
downfall  imprisons  them.  It  is  particularly  so 
when  their  wealth  has  only  been  an  episode  between 
two  periods  of  poverty. 

This  alternation  of  situations  is  hke  a  phantas- 
magoria in  which  judgment  is  warped.  To  have 
withstood  such  a  shock  Madam  Favier  must  have 
been  absolutely,  as  her  youthful  smile,  her  fresh 
cheeks,  and  the  harmonious  lines  of  her  face  showed 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  loi 

her  to  be,  a  simple  creature  tranquil  in  her  positivism, 
and  quite  the  opposite  of  this  girl  whose  future 
she  foresaw  as  she  would  have  foreseen  the  future 
of  a  son  who  had  joined  the  army.  Her  steps 
from  the  Conservatoire  to  the  Odeon,  Vaudeville 
and  Comédie  Française  were  fixed  in  this  good 
woman's  mind  with  a  regularity  which  was  the 
more  astonishing  because  her  education  had  been 
such  as  to  make  her  think  of  another  type  of  destiny 
for  a  woman.  How  had  such  a  revolution  been 
accomplished  in  her  mind  ?  Is  it  necessary  to 
explain  that  there  are  certain  natures  whose 
primordial  instinct  is  to  model  themselves  on 
circumstances,  just  as  the  instinct  of  others  is  to 
struggle  and  rebel  against  them  ?  The  latter  case 
was  that  of  the  poor  Blue  Duchess.  This  essential 
diffrence  between  their  two  characters  had  pre- 
vented any  real  intimacy  between  the  two  women. 
They  had  not  and  could  not  have  real  intercourse. 
I  realized  this  only  too  well  when  after  ten  minutes 
conversation  with  her  mother,  I  saw  Camille  enter 
with  a  pale  face  and  eyes  red  from  weeping,  for  her 
trouble  was  so  obvious,  and  yet  her  mother  never 
even  suspected  it  ! 

"It  is  your  turn  to  try  on  now,  mother,"  she 
said.  "  We  will  wait  for  you.  M.  la  Croix  has 
a  few  minutes  to  spare  us  I  am  sure."  But  when 
the  good  lady  had  shut  the  door  she  said 
"  Have  you  seen  Jacques  ?  " 

"  I  called  on  him  this  morning,"  I  replied. 

"  Then  you  know  that  I  am  aware  of  every- 
thing ?  " 


Î02  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

"  I  know  you  wrote  to  Fomberteau,"  I  replied 
evasively. 

"  You  know,  too,  your  friend's  answer,  when 
I  asked  for  an  explanation  of  his  deception  ?  He 
has  sent  you  to  find  out  for  him  what  impression 
his  infamous  note  has  produced  upon  me  ?  Now, 
confess  that  is  so,  it  will  be  more  straightforward." 

"  Why  do  you  judge  me  to  be  like  that,  mademoi- 
selle ?"  I  said,  displaying  grief  which  she  could  see 
was  sincere,  for  she  looked  at  me  in  astonishment, 
while  even  I  was  surprised  at  my  own  words  : 
"  You  were  more  just  to  me.  You  understand 
that  sometimes  silence  is  neither  an  approbation 
nor  a  complicity.  It  is  true  that  Jacques  did  not 
conceal  his  sorry  scheme  nor  his  note  from  me.  I 
did  not  hide  from  him  what  I  thought  of  his  harsh- 
ness, and  if  I  come  here  it  is  of  my  own  accord,  under 
the  impulse  of  a  sympathy  which  I  admit  I  have 
no  right  to  feel.  We  have  only  been  friends  for 
twenty-four  hours  and  yet  I  feel  that  sympathy. 
You  spoke  to  me  with  such  a  noble  outpouring 
of  the  heart,  with  such  touching  confidence  that 
henceforth,  I  thought,  we  cannot  be  strangers. 
I  felt  that  you  were  unhappy  and  I  came  to  you 
simply  and  naturally.  If  it  was  an  indiscretion 
you  have  thoroughly  punished  me  for  it." 

"  Forgive  me,",  she  said  in  different  tones  with 
an  altered  look  as  she  stretched  out  her  little  burn- 
ing hand  to  me.  "  I  am  suffering  and  that  makes 
me  unjust.  I,  too,  though  I  hardly  know  you,  feel 
too  keen  a  sympathy  for  you  to  doubt  yours. 
But  this  note  from  Jacques  has  wounded  me  and 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  103 

he  really  has  gone  too  far.  He  knows  that  I  love 
him  and  he  thinks  he  can  do  as  he  pleases  with 
me.  He  is  mistaken.  He  does  not  know  where 
he  is  hurling  me  by  playing  with  my  heart  in  the 
way  he  is  doing  !  " 

"  Do  not  be  enraged  at  what  is  only  a  burst  of 
anger  in  him,"  I  said,  full  of  apprehension.  "You 
wrote  to  Fomberteau.  For  the  moment  Jacques 
was  wounded.  He  wrote  most  unkindly  to  you, 
but  I  am  sure  he  regrets  it  by  this  time." 

"  He  ?  "  she  cried  with  a  nasty  laugh.  "  If 
you  are  saying  what  you  think,  you  hardly  know 
him.  That  which  causes  me  the  most  pain,  please 
understand  me,  is  not  what  he  has  done  to  me, 
though  that  makes  me  suffer  cruelly,  it  is  what  he 
pretends  to  himself  to  be  from  the  idea  I  had  of 
him.  I  put  him  so  high,  so  high  !  I  saw  in  him 
a  being  apart  from  others,  some  one  rare,  as  rare 
as  his  talent  !  Yet  I  find  him  like  the  lovers  of  all 
my  theatre  companions,  the  worst  of  their  lovers, 
those  who  have  not  even  the  courage  of  their 
infidelities  and  conceal  them  by  girlish  untruths, 
those  to  whom  the  love  given  to  them  is  nothing 
more  than  vanity,  a  woman's  sentiment  to  be  put  in 
the  button-hole  like  a  flower.  But  come,  my  passion 
blinds  me  no  longer.  That  rends  me,  and  he,  who 
is  so  intelligent,  does  not  even  suspect  the  nature 
of  my  suffering.  Don't  you  think  that  I  guessed 
that  creature  Madam  de  Bonnivet  invited  him  to 
supper  last  evening,  or  else  to  see  her  home,  or 
worse  still  ?  We  know  what  fashionable  women 
are  when   they  once  begin.     We  have  about  us 


104  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

the  same  men  as  they  do,  and  they  tell  us  their 
stories.  They  are  sometimes  haughty  wretches  ; 
and  Jacques  accepted  her  invitation  because  she 
has  a  house,  horses,  pictures,  dresses  by  Worth, 
50,000  franc  necklaces,  and  30,000  franc  furs. 
But  I,  too,  some  day  when  I  Hke,  will  have  luxury 
since  that  is  what  pleases  this  great  writer  with 
the  soul  of  a  snob.  I  have  only  to  accept  Tour- 
nade  as  my  lover,  the  big  fellow  with  a  face  like  a 
coachman  whom  you  saw  in  my  dressing-room, 
and  I  shall  have  a  house  as  good  as  Madam  Bon- 
nivet's  baiTack,  diamonds,  dresses  by  Worth, 
carriages  and  horses.  I  will  have  them,  I  will 
have  them,  and  he  shall  know  it.  He  will  be  the 
man  who  has  turned  me  into  a  kept  woman,  a 
courtesan,  and  I  will  tell  him  so  and  shout  it  after 
him.    Do  you  think  I  dare  not  ?  " 

"  No,  you  will  not  dare,"  I  replied  ;  "  even  to  say 
it  raises  a  feeling  of  disgust  in  you." 

"  No,"  she  replied  in  a  dull  voice,  "  you  must 
not  think  me  better  than  I  reaUy  am.  There  are 
days  when  that  glittering  life  tempts  me.  I  have 
been  rich,  you  see.  Up  to  the  age  of  twelve  or 
thirteen  I  was  surrounded  by  all  the  luxuries  it 
was  possible  for  a  father  making  100,000  francs  a 
year  on  the  Stock  Exchange  to  give  his  only 
daughter.  Ah  well,  at  times  I  miss  that  luxury. 
The  mediocrity  of  this  drab,  vulgar  and  common- 
place existence  disgusts  and  oppresses  me.  When 
I  am  waiting  for  a  tram  with  a  waterproof  and 
overshoes  to  save  a  cab  fare  of  35  sous,  I  sometimes 
get  impatient,  and  those  tempting  words,  '  If  you 


THE   BLUE  DUCHESS  105 

liked,'  come  into  my  mind.  Ah  !  when  I  have 
a  soul  full  of  happiness,  when  I  can  think  that  I 
love  and  am  loved,  that  I  am  realizing  and  carrying 
out  the  romance  of  my  youth,  that  Jacques  clings 
to  me  as  I  do  to  him,  and  that  I  shall  remain 
mingled  in  his  life  and  work,  then  it  is  an  intoxica- 
tion to  answer  myself  :  '  If  I  liked  ?  But  I  do 
not  like.'  I  smile  at  my  beloved  poverty  because 
it  is  my  beloved  chimera.  But  when  I  have 
teiTible  evidence,  as  I  did  to-day,  that  I  am  the 
dupe  of  a  mirage,  that  this  man  has  no  more  heart 
than  the  wood  of  this  furniture  " — and  she  struck 
with  her  clenched  fist  the  table  upon  which  she 
was  leaning  while  she  talked  to  me — "  then  I  make 
a  different  reply  to  the  temptation.  '  If  I  liked  ?  ' 
I  repeat  and  I  reply  :  '  It  is  true,  and  I  am  very 
foolish  not  to  like  !  '     I  shall  not  always  be  so." 

"  You  will  always  be  so,"  I  said  as  I  took  her 
hand  again,  "  because  this  foolishness  simply  con- 
sists in  having  what  you  believe  Jacques  has  not, 
I  mean  a  heart.  But  then  he  has  one  of  a  sort," 
I  added,  "  and  you  will  be  of  that  opinion  this 
evening  or  to-morrow  morning." 

"  You  do  not  know  me,"  she  replied  with  a 
frown  upon  her  pretty  forehead  and  a  tremor  of 
hatred  around  her  fine  mouth,  which  had  become 
bitter  again.  "  He  will  have  to  humble  himself 
and  wait  days  and  days  for  his  pardon.  Yesterday 
you  only  saw  me  as  the  weak  and  amorous  woman. 
There  is  another  side  to  my  character,  the  bad 
side.  You  will  find  it  out.  There  is  another 
characteristic,  too,  pride  ;  but  don't  be  any  the  less 


Io6  THE   BLUE  DUCHESS 

my  friend,"  she  went  on,  introduring  a  subtle 
touch  of  melancholy  into  her  anger.  The  grace 
of  this  sudden  change  of  front  brought  the  shadow 
of  a  sad  smile  to  her  face.  She  wiped  away  with 
her  handkerchief  two  large  tears,  and  added  with 
a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  in  a  childish  tone  which 
contrasted  graciously,  too,  with  the  tragic  dis- 
course which  had  just  preceded  it  :  "I  hear 
mother  coming  back.  I  don't  want  hei  to  see  that 
I  have  been  crying.  As  I  am  ashamed  of  lying  to 
her,  let  us  do  so  thoroughly." 

What  a  conversation  this  was  for  a  man  to  hear 
who,  as  I,  since  the  previous  evening,  had 
been  invaded  by  the  most  passionate  interests, 
and  by  an  emotion  so  keen  that  it  was  real  love  ! 
During  the  hours  of  that  afternoon  of  confidences 
I  could  do  nothing  but  ask  myself  :  "  Was  she 
sincere  ?  Would  it  be  possible  for  despair  to  make 
her  take  that  horrible  course  ?"  I  could  see  in 
my  mind  that  fat  Tournade,  and  the  gleam  of  the 
eyes  of  that  horrible  being  standing  out  from  his 
red  face.  I  discerned  now  on  reflection  a  will  I 
had  not  realized  on  the  previous  evening,  that  of 
the  rich  and  patient  rake  who  is  weary  of  play 
and  fastens  himself  upon  a  particular  woman.  At 
the  same  time  I  could  see  Jacques  Molan  as  I  had 
left  him  that  morning,  and  his  look  when  he  had 
spoken  of  liis  scheme  for  a  rupture.  But  it  was 
impossible  that  he  could  suspect  the  responsibility 
he  was  incurring.  I  tried  to  demonstrate  to 
myself  that  there  was  more  affectation  than  real 
perversity  in  his  nature  as  a  literary  man  and  that 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  107 

it  was  inoffensi\'e.  It  is  always  childish  for  a 
man  to  make  such  a  parade  of  himself,  even  when, 
as  in  his  case,  it  was  diplomatic  and  calculated. 
Was  he  not  better  than  his  attitudes  and  paradoxes  ? 
Who  knows  ?  In  telling  him  simply  and  frankly 
my  impression  of  the  evil  he  could  do  this  poor 
girl,  should  I  not  touch  in  him  a  chord  of  remorse  ? 
There  is,  however,  a  sentimental  honour,  a  probity, 
trivial  but  strictly  accurate,  in  affairs  of  the  heart,  as 
there  is  professional  honour  and  probity  in  money 
matters.  How  many  people  anarchists  in  theory 
recognize  in  practice  this  pecuniary  probity  ! 
They  preach  the  suppression  of  inheritance,  and 
they  would  not  rob  you  of  a  farthing  in  a  business 
transaction.  Why  had  not  Jacques  too  a  fund 
of  scruples  and  probity  in  the  presence  of  an 
obviously  bad  action  to  be  committed  or  not  ? 

This  reasoning  resulted,  after  weighing  the  pros 
and  cons,  after  resolving  to  speak  to  him  and  then 
proving  to  myself  the  ridiculousness  of  doing  so,  in 
my  once  more,  about  six  o'clock,  crossing  the 
threshold  of  his  house  in  the  Place  Delaborde,  only 
to  discover  that  Molan  was  not  there.  I  went  to 
dinner  hoping  to  meet  him  as  I  had  done  the  pre- 
vious evening  ;  I  did  not  do  so.  Seeing  the  impos- 
sibility of  meeting  him,  I  wanted  at  least  to  have 
another  talk  with  the  woman  who  had  been  the 
cause  of  my  fruitless  search,  the  seductive  Camille 
Favier,  whose  frail  silhouette,  blue  eyes  and  emo- 
tional smile,  pursued  me  with  an  obsession  much 
more  irresistible  than  my  pity  justified.  That 
was  the  pretext  I  found  as  I  made   my   way   to 


io8  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

the  Vaudeville.  I  reached  the  theatre  even  before 
the  end  of  the  first  act.  My  weakness  inflicted 
upon  me  a  feeling  of  shame,  which  made  me  hesi- 
tate about  entering.  I  can  see  myself  now  walking 
round  the  entrance,  first  of  all  looking  at  the  stair- 
case leading  to  the  theatre  and  then  at  the  stage 
door  in  the  Chaussée  d'Antin.  At  last  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  enter  by  the  latter  door,  and  as  I 
did  so  the  audience  were  coming  out  in  the 
interval.     I  ran  up  against  Jacques  himself. 

"  Are  you  going  to  see  Camille  ?"  he  asked  with 
a  heartiness  through  which  I  discerned  malice,  and 
I  believe  I  blushed  as  I  replied — 

"  No,  I  am  running  after  you." 

"  You  have  come  to  plead  her  cause,  I  am  sure," 
he  said  as  he  took  my  arm.  "  I  know  you  had 
a  talk  with  her  this  afternoon  and  even  defended 
me.  I  thank  you,  for  it  would  have  been  quite 
legitimate  for  you  to  try  and  profit  by  the  situation. 
Only  you  are  an  honourable  man.  The  cause  is 
won  and  we  are  so  reconciled,  your  friend  and  I, 
that  to-morrow  she  is  coming  to  visit  me  in  my 
'  Abode  of  Love,'  as  your  friend  Larcher  calls  it." 

"  What  of  Madam  de  Bonnivet  ?"  I  asked  him, 
surprised  at  this  unexpected  change  of  front. 

"  Madam  de  Bonnivet  is  nothing  but  a  simpleton, 
a  woman  of  the  world  in  all  her  horror.  She  kept 
the  appointment  at  Père  Lachaise.  She  came 
there  with  the  intention  of  making  me  climb  to 
the  top  of  the  yew  trees  between  which  we  walked. 
She  played  the  coquette  there  more  coldly  than 
jn  her  own  drawing-room.     As  I  don't  Uke  to  be 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  109 

laughed  at,  we  separated  after  what  was  almost  a 
quarrel." 

"  So  Camille  benefits  by  the  desire  rejected  by 
the  other  woman  ?"  I  interrupted.  "  That  is 
what  is  called  a  *  transfer  '  in  the  money  market." 

"  No,  not  that,"  he  said  as  he  shook  his  head. 
"  A  man's  heart  is  more  complicated  than  that. 
After  seeing  Madam  de  Bonnivet  to  her  carriage, 
for  she  had  the  audacity,  or  if  you  prefer  it,  the 
precaution,  to  come  to  the  rendezvous  in  her 
private  carriage,  I  told  her  in  Enghsh  the  astonish- 
ing phrase  Lord  Herbert  Bohun  used  to  Madam 
Ethorel  when  he  had  the  audacity  to  make  a 
declaration  to  her  on  his  second  visit,  and  which 
is  the  finest  example  of  insolence  and  fatuity  I 
know  !  '  You  know  I  shan't  give  you  another 
chance.'  I  raised  my  hat  too  tranquilly  for  the 
fool  to  think  I  was  sincere.  But  I  was.  I  lit  a 
cigar,  reaching  the  Boulevard  on  foot  with  a 
quickness  which  surprised  even  myself.  I  made 
the  discovery  that  not  only  I  did  not  love  this 
woman,  but  that  she  really  displeased  me.  With 
her  a  visit  to  my  bachelor's  apartments,  the  usual 
theatre  of  my  pleasures,  would  have  been  a  sport 
which  flattered  my  vanity  without  a  doubt,  but 
still  an  unpleasant  job.  She  is,  then,  quaint  and 
pretentious.  Then  the  image  of  the  other  one 
came  into  my  mind,  and  this  infidelity  which  I 
had  almost  committed  against  her  made  her  seem 
adorable  by  comparison,  so  adorable  that  I  that 
once  went  into  a  café  to  write  to  my  pretty  Camille 
a  letter  of  reconciliation.     I  would  have  given  my 


I  to  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

author's  fees  for  that  evening  foi  Queen  Anne  to 
have  seen  me,  for  without  a  doubt  she  beheved  I 
was  in  some  corner  shedding  the  tears  of  wounded 
love  and  humiUated  vanity.  That  would  be  like 
me,  would  it  not  ?  " 

"  Did  Mademoiselle  Favier  answer  your  note  ?  " 
I  asked. 

"  A  six-page  letter  which  is  a  masterpiece,  just 
like  everything  she  writes  to  me — five  and  a  half 
pages  to  tell  me  she  would  never  forgive  me,  and 
the  last  half-page  to  forgive  me.  It  is  a  classic  ! 
But  where  are  you  going  ?  I  believe  you  were 
going  to  see  her." 

"  I  repeat  that  I  was  looking  for  you,"  I  rephed. 
"  I  have  found  you,  but  what  I  had  to  tell  you 
you  have  found  out.  You  are  doing  her  justice 
and  have  done  so  to  the  other  one.  Your  lover's 
quarrel  is  over.  You  are  reconciled  and  happy. 
There  is  nothing  left  for  me  to  do  but  bless  3'ou." 


CHAPTER    V 

I  LEFT  Jacques  after  this  jesting  remark  which 
I  laughed  at  him  with  a  gaiety  sufficiently 
well  simulated  for  the  strange  pain  I  w^as  stifling  to 
escape  his  irony.  Here  was  my  cowardice  again, 
my  grievous  inconsequence  of  heart  which  was 
always  the  same  in  spite  of  experience,  in  spite  of 
resolution,  and  in  spite  of  age  !  I  had  run  after 
my  friend  all  the  afternoon  to  beg  hijn  not  to  slight 
his  poor  friend  by  abandoning  her  so  brutally. 
I  had  come  to  the  theatre  to  exhort  Camille  not 
to  judge  her  lover  as  she  did,  for  her  possible  ven- 
geance had  moved  me  with  anxiety  to  the  depths 
of  my  soul.  I  ought  then  to  rejoice  at  their  recon- 
ciliation. So  much  the  better  if  Madam  de  Bon- 
nivet's  coquetry  had  produced  naturally  a  result 
which  without  doubt  my  counsel  would  not.  But 
it  was  not  so.  The  fact  of  the  actress  pardoning 
with  the  facility  of  a  true  lover  wounded  me  in  a 
îtill  unsuspected  place,  and  the  thought  of  their 
appointment  on  the  morrow  was  more  painful 
still.  I  could  see  them  in  each  other's  arms,  with 
the  help  of  that  terribly  precise  imagination  which 
a  painter's  craft  develops  in  him.  This  unsup- 
portable  vision  made  me  admit  the  sad  truth.     I 


112  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

was  jealous,  jealous  without  hope,  and  the  right 
to  be  so,  with  a  childish,  grotesque  and  unacceptable 
jealousy.  I  was  about  to  enter,  I  had  entered 
]nto  that  hell  of  false  sentiments  in  which  one 
feels  the  worst  of  passion's  sorrow  without  tasting 
any  of  its  joys.     How  well  I  knew  that  cursed  path  ! 

In  the  course  of  my  love  affairs,  which  were  as 
incomplete  and  incoherent  as  the  rest  of  my  exist- 
ence, I  had  already  experienced  this  dangerous 
situation  more  than  once.  I  had  been  the  too 
tender  friend  of  a  woman  who  was  in  love  with 
some  one  else,  but  never  with  the  sudden  emotion, 
with  the  troubled  ardour  in  the  sympathy  which 
Camille  Favier  inspired  in  me.  I  was  afraid,  so 
I  concluded  a  solemn  compact  with  myself.  I 
took  my  hand  and  said  aloud  :  "I  give  my  word 
of  honour  to  myself  I  will  keep  my  door  shut  all 
the  week,  and  I  will  neither  go  to  see  Jacques,  nor 
to  the  theatre,  nor  to  the  Rue  de  la  Barouillère.  I 
will  work  and  cure  myself." 

Every  one  in  his  character  has  strong  points 
which  correspond  to  his  weak  ones.  The  latter 
are  the  ransom  of  the  former.  My  task  of  energy 
in  positive  action  is  compensated  by  a  rare  power 
of  passive  energy,  if  that  expression  is  allowable. 
Incapable  of  going  forward  vigorously,  even  when 
my  keenest  desire  urges  me  on,  I  am  capable  of 
singular  endurance  in  abstention,  in  abnegation 
and  absence.  Telling  a  woman  that  I  love  her 
stifles  me  with  timidity  into  thinking  that  I  shall 
die  of  it.  I  have  been  able  to  ûy  with  savage 
energy  from  mistresses  I  have  passionately  adored, 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  113 

and  remain  even  without  answering  their  letters, 
though  in  agonies  of  grief,  because  I  had  sworn 
never  to  see  them  again.  To  keep  my  oath  as 
regards  Camille  was  much  easier.  In  fact  the 
week  I  deemed  sufficient  for  my  cure  passed  with- 
out my  giving  to  her  or  to  Jacques  any  sign  of  my 
existence.  Neither  did  the  two  lovers  give  me 
any  sign  of  their  existence. 

The  first  part  of  the  programme  was  completed, 
but  not  the  second,  for  the  cure  did  not  come.  I 
must  say  that  my  wisdom  and  my  actions  was  not 
accompanied  by  equal  wisdom  in  my  thoughts.  I 
worked  hard,  but  at  what  !  I  tried  at  first  for  forty 
eight  hours  to  resume  my  "  Psyché  pardonnée." 
I  could  not  become  absorbed  in  it.  The  smile 
and  the  eyes  of  my  friend's  mistress  ceaselessly 
interposed  between  my  picture  and  myself.  I 
put  down  my  brush.  I  told  Malvina  Ducras,  my 
stupid  model  with  a  common  voice  and  such  sad 
eyes,  to  take  a  little  rest,  and  while  the  girl  smoked 
cigarettes  and  read  a  bad  novel,  my  mind  went 
far  away  from  my  studio  and  I  could  see  Camille 
again.  I  had  read  too  many  books,  as  my  custom 
was,  about  this  fable  of  Psyché  for  it  not  to  make 
me  dream.  The  idea  represented  by  this  story, 
this  cruel  affirmation  that  the  soul  can  only  love 
in  unconsciousness,  has  always  appeared  to  me 
to  be  a  theme  of  inexpressible  melancholy.  Alas  ! 
it  is  not  for  matters  of  love  only  that  the  Psyché 
imprisoned  and  palpitating  in  each  of  us  submits 
to  this  law  of  ignorant  and  obscure  instinct.  This 
stern    law    dominates    matters    of    religion     and 


114  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

matters  of  art.  To  believe  is  to  renounce  under- 
standing.    To  create  is  to   renounce  reflection. 

When  an  artist  like  myself  suffers  from  a  hyper- 
trophy of  the  intelligence,  when  he  feels  himself 
intoxicated  by  criticism,  paralysed  by  theories,  this 
symbol  of  the  cursed  and  wandering  nymph  who 
expiates  in  distress  the  crime  of  wishing  to  know, 
becomes,  too,  too  real,  too  true.  It  agitates  too 
powerfully  cords  which  are  too  deep.  I  always  felt 
myself  attracted  by  this  subject,  without  doubt  on 
account  of  that,  and  I  have  never  been  able  to  make 
a  success  of  the  scenes  of  canvasses  on  which  I  have 
begun  to  treat  the  subject.  Camille  Favier  is  far 
away  and  the  "  Psyché  pardonnée  '  '  is  still  unfinished. 
I  would  like  to  introduce  into  the  picture,  too,  many 
tints.  But  then  the  slightest  pretext  has  always 
been  and  will  always  be  enough  to  distract  me. 
The  clear  impression  which  I  retained  of  Camille 
was  of  all  these  pretexts  the  most  delightful,  and 
the  one  which  least  disturbed  my  craft  as  a  painter, 
thanks  to  the  strange  compromise  of  conscience 
which  I  devised,  about  which  I  will  tell  you. 

"  As  I  cannot  help  thinking  of  her  all  day  long," 
I  said  to  myself  at  last,  "  suppose  I  try  to  paint 
•her  portrait  from  memory  ?  Goethe  pretended 
that  to  deliver  himself  from  a  sorrow,  it  was 
sufficient  for  him  to  compose  a  poem.  Why  should 
not  a  painted  poem  have  the  same  virtue  as  a 
written  one  ?  ''  Was  not  this  paradoxical  [and 
foolish  enterprise,  the  portrait  without  a  model 
of  a  woman  seen  but  twice,  the  work  of  a  poet  ? 
It  was  paradoxical  but  not  foolish.     I  had  to  fix 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  115 

upon  canvas  this  pale  silhouette  which  haunted 
my  dreams,  my  first  impression  of  which  was  so 
clear  that  by  shutting  my  eyes  I  could  see  her 
before  me  just  as  she  appeared — upon  the  stage, 
fine  and  fairylike  in  her  youth  and  genius  beneath 
her  make-up,  with  the  blue  costume  of  her  part  ; 
then  in  her  dressing-room,  by  turns  tender  and 
satirical,  with  the  picturesque  disorder  around 
her  which  betrayed  the  thousand  small  miseries 
of  her  calling  ;  then  along  the  wall  of  the  Invalides 
under  the  stars  of  that  December  night,  leaning 
on  my  arm,  pale  and  magnified  as  if  she  were  trans- 
figured by  the  sadness  of  her  confidences  ;  and 
last  of  all  at  home,  tragic  and  trembling  at  the 
deceit  practised  upon  her  ?  All  these  Camilles 
were  blended  in  my  mind  into  an  image  hardly  less 
clear  than  her  presence  itself.  I  dismissed  Mal- 
vina.  I  relegated  "  Psyché  "  to  a  corner  of  the 
studio,  and  I  made  a  large  red  crayon  drawing  of 
my  phantom.  The  likeness  in  this  portrait  out- 
lined in  the  fever  of  a  passionate  pity  was  striking. 
Camille  smiled  at  me  from  the  bluish  paper.  It 
was  only  a  sketch,  but  so  lifelike  that  I  was  aston- 
ished at  it  myself. 

As  usual  I  doubted  my  own  talent,  and  to  verif}- 
the  fact  that  this  portrait  from  memory  was  really 
successful  to  this  extent,  I  went  to  a  shop  in  the 
Rue  de  Rivoli  where  photographs  of  famous  people 
were  for  sale.  I  asked  for  one  of  the  fashionable 
actress.  They  had  a  collection  of  six.  I  bought 
them  with  a  blush  on  my  face,  a  ridiculous  timidity 
considering  my  age,  my  profession,  and  the  inno- 


it6  the  blue  duchess 

cence  of  the  purchase.  I  waited  before  examining, 
them  in  detail  till  I  was  alone  beneath  the  bare 
chestnuts  in  the  Tuileries  on  this  overccist  autumn 
afternoon,  which  accorded  well  with  the  nostalgia 
with  which  I  was  seized  before  these  portraits. 
The  most  charming  of  them  represented  Camilla 
in  walking  dress.  It  must  have  been  at  least  two 
years  old,  at  a  period  certainly  before  she  became 
Jacques'  mistress.  There  was  in  the  eyes  and 
at  the  lips  of  this  girlish  picture  a  maidenly  and 
somewhat  shy  expression,  the  shamefaced  nervous 
reserve  of  a  soul  which  has  not  yet  given  itself — 
the  soul  of  a  child  which  foresees  its  destiny  and 
fears  it,  but  desires  the  mysterious  unknown. 
Two  others  of  these  photographs  represented  the 
debutante  in  the  two  parts  she  had  played  at  the 
Odeon.  She  was  the  same  innocent  child,  but  the 
determination  to  succeed  had  formed  a  wrinkle 
between  her  brows,  and  there  was  the  light  of 
battle  in  her  eyes  ;  the  firm,  almost  strained  fold 
of  the  mouth  revealed  the  anxiety  of  an  ambition 
which  doubts  itself.  The  three  latter  photographs 
showed  in  the  costume  of  the  Blue  Duchess  the 
woman  at  last  born  from  the  child.  The  revelatign 
of  love  was  displayed  by  the  nostrils  which  breathed 
life,  and  by  the  eyes  in  which  the  flame  of  pleasure, 
light  and  burning,  floated  ;  and  the  mouth  had 
something  like  a  trace,  upon  its  fuller  lips,  of  kisses 
given  and  received. 

Would  another  day  come  when  other  pictures 
would  tell  no  more  of  the  romance  of  the  artist 
and  lover,  but  of  the  venal  slave  of  gallantry,  kept 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  117 

by  a  Tournade,  by  several  Tournades,  and  forever 
branded  by  shameless  and  profligate  luxury. 
But  I  always  went  back  to  the  earliest  of  these 
photographs,  the  one  I  would  have  desired,  had 
I  been  able  to  meet  the  living  model  in  that  same 
garden  of  the  Tuileries,  on  her  way  to  the  Con- 
servatoire. Now  I  could  think  of  her  only  as  she 
had  been  before  her  first  stain,  such  as  she  would 
never  be  again  ! 

"  Poesy  is  deliverance  "  ;  yes,  perhaps,  for  a 
Goethe,  or  for  a  Leonard,  for  one  of  those  sovereign 
creatures  who  throw  all  their  inner  being  into, 
and  incarnate  it  in,  a  written  or  painted  work. 
There  is  another  race  of  artists  to  whom  their 
work  is  only  an  exaltation  of  a  certain  inner  state. 
They  do  not  rid  themselves  of  suffering  by  express- 
ing it,  they  develop  it,  they  inflame  it,  perhaps 
because  they  do  not  know  how  to  express  it  and 
to  entirely  rid  themselves  of  it.  This  was  so  in 
my  own  case.  Before  these  photographs  my 
project  for  a  portrait  became  praise.  I  only 
retained  the  first  one.  It  was  the  eighteen-year- 
old  Camille  I  wished  to  evoke  and  paint.  It  was 
a  phantom,  the  phantom  of  her  whom  I  might 
have  known  in  her  purity,  as  a  virgin,  might  have 
loved  and  perhaps  married.  It  was  a  portrait  of 
a  phantom,  of  a  dead  woman. 

From  this  task  was  diffused  upon  me  during 
the  week's  seclusion  and  uninterrupted  labour 
that  vague  and  satisfying  delight  which  floats 
around  a  woman's  form  which  has  gone  for  ever. 
In  analysing  under  the  microscope  the  tiny  details 


rr8  THE  FA.VF.  DUCHESS 

of  this  face  upon  this  bad  and  almost  faded  photo- 
graph, I  enjoyed  for  hours  a  voluptuous  and 
unutterably  attractive  soul's  pleasure.  There 
was  not  a  trait  in  this  ingenuous  face  in  which  I 
did  not  discover  a  proof,  quite  obvious  and  physio- 
logical to  me,  of  an  exquisite  delicacy  of  nature 
in  the  person,  of  whom  that  had  been  a  momentary 
likeness.  The  tiny  ear  with  its  pretty  lobe  told 
of  her  breeding.  Her  pale  silky  hair  displayed 
tints  in  its  ringlets  which  seemed  faded  and  washed 
out.  The  construction  of  the  lower  part  of  the 
face  could  be  seen  to  be  fine  and  robust  beneath 
her  slender  cheeks.  There  was  a  shade  of  sensu- 
ality in  her  lower  lip  which  was  slightly  flattened 
and  split  by  the  wrinkle  which  betokens  great 
goodness.  There  was  intelligence  and  gaiety  in 
her  straight  nose,  which  was  cut  a  trifle  short  in 
comparison  with  her  chin.  But  what  of  her  eyes  ? 
Her  gi'eat,  clear,  profound  eyes,  innocent  and 
tender,  curious  and  dreamy  !  As  I  looked  at 
them,  to  my  overwrought  imagination  they  seemed 
to  be  animate.  Her  little  head  turned  upon 
a  neck,  which  fine  attachment  displayed  the 
slenderness  of  the  rest  of  the  body. 

I  never  understood  so  well  as  in  that  period  of 
contemplative  exaltation  that  oriental  jealousy 
which  protects  their  women  from  the  caress  of 
the  glance,  which  is  as  passionate,  as  enveloping, 
and  almost  as  deflowering  as  the  other  caresses. 
To  contemplate  is  to  possess.  How  I  felt  that 
during  those  long  sittings  spent  in  putting  on  to 
canvas  such  a  real  and  deceptive  mirage  as  the 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  iig 

smile  and  eyes  of  Camille,  her  smile  of  the  past, 
and  her  eyes  of  to-day  lit  by  ether  flames  !  How 
I  felt,  too,  that  my  talent  was  not  in  the  depths  of 
my  soul,  since  the  intoxication  of  this  spiritual 
possession  was  not  achieved  by  a  definite  creature  ! 
I  have  only  sketched  these  days  in  which  I  lived 
and  experienced  the  sensations  produced  by  the 
achievement  of  a  masterpiece.  At  least  I  respected 
in  myself  this  attack  of  the  sacred  fever,  and  I 
never  again  touched,  to  complete  it,  the  portrait 
I  had  drawn  in  that  week.  Why  was  not  the 
period  prolonged  ? 

Why  ?  The  fault  is  not  alone  in  my  own  weak- 
ness. A  simple  incident  occurred  which  did  not 
depend  upon  my  will.  It  sufficed  to  dismiss  me 
from  the  drama  of  coquetry  and  real  love  which  I 
wished  to  shun,  to  avoid  being  the  confidant  of 
former  tragedies  boasted  of  by  Jacques — a  confidant 
himself  wounded  and  bleeding.  Because  of  my 
troubles  during  the  day  following  my  introduction 
to  the  Bonnivets,  and  during  my  week's  solitary 
work,  I  had  neglected  to  call  upon  them  and  leave 
my  card.  For  that  reason  I  felt  I  was  not  likely 
to  see  Queen  Anne  again.  But  that  was  the  quarter 
from  which  reached  me  the  pretext  to  break 
this  period  of  solitude  and  work  in  the  ordin- 
ary shape  of  a  perfumed  note  emblazoned  and 
scrawled  in  the  most  coquettish  and  impersonal 
English  handwriting,  by  Madam  de  Bonnivet 
herself.  It  was  an  invitation  to  dine  with  her 
and  a  small  party  of  mutual  friends. 

The  fact  that  this  invitation  reached  me  after 


120  THE  BLUE  DUrilESS 

my  breach  of  etiquette  proved  clearly  enough 
that  her  quarrel  with  Jacques  had  not  lasted. 
The  brief  notice  the  dinner  was  for  the  following 
day,  showed  on  the  other  hand  that  it  was  an 
unexpected  invitation.  A  third  fact  added  an 
enigmatic  character  to  this  note,  which  was  as 
commonplace  as  the  writing  in  it  !  Why  had  it 
not  reached  me  through  Jacques  or  with  a  few 
lines  from  him  ?  My  first  idea  was  to  refuse  it. 
A  dinner  in  town  had  appeared  to  me  for  years 
an  insupportable  and  useless  task.  The  too 
numerous  family  feasts  I  am  constrained  to  attend, 
why  ? — the  monthly  love  feasts  of  fellow  artists 
which  I  am  weak  enough  to  frequent — why  again  ? — 
two  or  three  friends  who  dine  with  me  from  time 
to  time — because  I  like  them — the  dining-room  at 
the  club  where  I  go  when  I  am  very  bored — these 
gatherings  to  a  great  extent  suffice  for  the  social 
sense  which  has  withered  in  me  with  age.  I  shall 
end,  I  think,  by  only  dining  out  about  once  in 
three  years. 

The  dinner  to  which  the  beautiful  and  dangerous 
Queen  Anne  had  invited  me  was  one  the  more  to 
be  avoided,  as  it  plunged  me  once  more  into  the 
current  of  emotions  I  had  stemmed  so  resolutely 
and  painfully.  I  sat  down  to  write  a  note  of 
refusal,  which  I  put  into  an  envelope  and  stamped. 
Then  instead  of  sending  the  letter  to  the  post,  I 
put  it  in  my  pocket  to  post  myself.  I  called  a 
passing  cab,  and  instead  of  telling  the  driver  to 
stop  at  the  nearest  post  office  I  gave  him  Molan's 
address.  Place  Delaborde — the  house  I  had  sworn 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  121 

not  to  enter  again.  Would  there  not  still  be  time 
to  send  my  refusal  after  finding  out  from  Jacques 
the  reason  of  Madam  de  Bonnivet's  amiability, 
about  which  I  could  say  with  Ségur  of  the  promo- 
tion of  officers,  after  the  battle  of  Moskwa  : 
"  These  favours  threatened  ?  " 

The  page  showed  me  this  time  into  the  great 
man's  study.  Molan  was  sitting  at  his  writing- 
table  which  was  of  massive  oak  with  numerous 
drawers  in  it.  Bookcases  were  all  round  this 
little  room,  and  in  appearance  the  volumes  were 
works  of  reference  often  used  but  always  put  back 
in  their  places.  There  was  no  dust  on  them,  nor 
was  there  any  trace  of  the  disorder  to  be  found 
with  the  writer-born,  whose  fancy  ceaselessly 
interrupts  his  work.  A  high  desk  held  out  an 
invitation  for  standing  composition.  Another 
bookcase,  lofty  and  revolving,  full  of  dictionaries, 
atlas,  books  of  reference,  and  maps  stood  at  the 
corner  of  the  writing-table  ;  and  the  order  of  the 
latter  piece  of  furniture,  with  its  sheets  of  paper 
carefully  cut,  its  stock  of  useful  articles,  its  place 
for  answered  letters  and  for  letters  to  be  answered, 
demonstrated  the  methodical  habits  of  work  dail}- 
allotted  and  executed.  These  details  of  practical 
installation  were  too  like  their  owner  for  a  single 
one  to  escape  me.  There  was  not  a  work  of  art 
to  be  seen,  not  even  on  the  mantelpiece,  where 
stood  the  usual  library  clock.  This  timepiece 
which  marked  the  hours  of  work  was  a  good, 
accurate  instrument,  metallic  and  clear  in  its  glass 
and  copper  case. 


122  THE  Bî.UE  DUCHESS 

What  other  portrait  could  one  paint  of  this 
writer,  who  was  an  absolute  stranger  to  anything 
not  his  own  business,  as  methodical  as  if  he  were 
not  a  man  of  the  world,  as  regular  as  if  he  were  not, 
by  his  art  itself,  the  painter  of  all  the  troubks  and 
all  the  disorders  of  the  human  soul,  than  sitting 
at  his  table  with  his  cold  and  reflective  face,  and 
his  way  of  using  his  pen  with  a  free,  measured 
and  regular  gesture.  To  make  his  portrait  reall}' 
typical  it  was  necessary  to  paint  Molan  as  I  sur- 
prised him,  engaged  in  reading  the  four  pages  he 
had  written  since  his  awakening  that  morning — 
four  little  sheets  covered  with  Unes  of  equal  length 
in  a  handwriting  every  letter  of  which  was  pro- 
perly made,  every  T  crossed  and  every  I  dotted. 
Was  I  envious  as  I  noted  these  details  with  an 
irritation  not  justified  in  appearance  ?  He  had 
the  right  after  all,  this  fellow,  to  administer  his 
literary  fortune  as  if  it  were  a  house  of  business. 
But  is  there  not  something  in  us,  almost  a  sense 
which  this  indefinable  deception  offends  :  this  work- 
ing of  a  fine  talent,  with  so  much  egoism,  so  much 
calculation  at  its  base,  and  so  little  moral  unity 
between  the  written  thought  and  the  thought  Hved? 

Another  mannerism  of  Jacques'  irritated  my 
nerves.  He  stretched  out  his  hand  to  me  with 
an  indifferent  cordiality  quite  his  own.  He  had 
been  for  months  without  seeing  me  till  we  met 
at  the  club,  and  he  spoke  to  me  then  in  as  friendly 
a  way  as  if  we  had  met  on  the  previous  day.  He 
had  told  me  about  the  two  adventures  he  had 
on  h^nd  as  if   I  were  his  best  and  surest   friend, 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  123 

Directly  I  turned  on  my  heel  I  saw  or  heard  no 
more  of  him.  I  had  ceased  to  exist  as  far  as  hf 
was  concerned.  When  I  saw  him  again  he  greetea 
me  with  just  the  same  handshake.  How  much 
I  prefer,  to  these  smiling  and  facile  friends,  the 
suspicious,  the  susceptible,  and  the  irritable  ones 
with  whom  you  quarrel,  who  either  want  you  or 
do  not  do  so,  who  often  get  angry  with  you,  some- 
times wrongly  and  by  the  most  involuntary 
negligence,  but  for  whom  you  exist  and  are  real 
with  human  living  reahty  !  To  the  real  egoists, 
on  the  other  hand,  you  are  an  object,  a  thing  the 
equal  in  their  eyes  of  the  couch  they  offer  you  to 
sit  down  upon  with  their  most  amiable  and  empty 
smile.  Your  only  reality  to  them  is  your  presence, 
and  the  pleasure  or  the  reverse  they  feel  at  it. 
To  be  entirely  frank,  perhaps  I  should  have 
wished  Camille's  lover  to  receive  me  in  the  way 
he  always  had  done,  with  his  impersonal  gracious- 
ness,  if  I  had  not  found  him  looking  a  little  pale 
and  heavy-eyed  ;  and  I  was  obliged  to  attribute 
this  slight  fatigue  to  his  love  of  the  charming  girl, 
whose  maidenly  grace  of  the  past  I  had  just  spent 
a  week  in  evoking,  sustained  by  the  most  passion- 
ate of  retrospective  hypnotism.  This  impression 
was  as  painful  to  me  as  if  I  had  over  Camille  other 
rights  than  those  of  dream  and  sympathy.  I 
had  really  come  to  talk  about  her,  and  I  would 
have  hked  to  depart  without  even  her  name  being 
mentioned.  This  silence  was  the  more  impossible 
as  after  our  greeting  I  held  out  to  Jacques  Madam 
de  Bonnivet's  invitation. 


T24  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

"  Were  you  the  cause  of  this  being  sent  to  me  ?  " 
I  asked  him.  "  Who  will  be  present  at  this 
dinner  ?     What  answer  shall  I  give  ?  " 

"  I  ?  "  he  said,  after  reading  the  letter,  unable 
1*  ')  conceal  his  astonishment.  "No.  I  had  nothing 
to  do  with  it.  You  must  accept  for  two  reasons  : 
first  because  it  will  amuse  you,  and  then  you,  by 
doing  so,  will  be  rendering  me  a  real  service." 

"  You  a  service  ?  " 

"  Yes.  It  is  very  simple,"  he  replied,  a  little 
impatient  at  my  stupidity.  "  You  don't  under- 
stand that  Madam  de  Bonnivet  has  invited  you 
because  she  hopes  to  find  out  from  you  my  actual 
relations  with  Camille  Favier  ?  It  is  a  little  ruse. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  you  have  deserted  me  again 
and  are  not  up-to-date.  But  you  know  me  well 
enough  to  be  sure  that  I  have  not  let  the  week 
pass  without  manoeuvring  skilfully  in  the  little 
war  which  Queen  Anne  and  myself  are  waging  ! 
1  say  skilfully,  but  it  is  merely  working  a  scheme, 
the  foundation  of  which  never  varies.  Mine  has 
progressed  in  the  way  I  told  you,  by  persuading 
the  lady  more  and  more  that  I  have  a  profound 
passion  for  little  Camille.  There  is  no  need  for  me 
to  tell  you  my  various  stratagems,  the  simplest 
of  which  has  been  to  behave  with  Camille  as  if  I 
really  loved  her.  But  Queen  Anne  is  clever,  and 
is  studying  my  play.  I  have  only  to  make  one 
slip  and  my  plan  will  fail." 

"  Come.  I  don't  understand  you.  One  fact  is 
that  you  are  courting  Madam  de  Bonnivet.  You 
talk  to  her  about  your  passion  for  little  Favier  ; 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  125 

that  is  another  fact.  How  do  you  manage  that  ? 
For  to  pay  court  to  one  is  not  to  have  a  passion 
for  the  other  ?  " 

"  But,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  interrupted,  "  you 
forget  the  remorse  and  the  temptation.  I  am  not 
pa5dng  court  to  Queen  Anne,  I  am  arranging  to 
do  so.  Have  you  ever  kept  a  dog  ?  Yes.  Then 
you  have  seen  it,  when  you  were  at  table  enjoying 
a  cutlet,  look  at  you  and  the  bone  with  eyes  in 
which  the  honest  sentiments  of  duty  and  the 
gluttonous  appetite  of  the  carnivorous  animal 
were  striving  for  mastery  ?  Ah,  well,  I  have  those 
eyes  for  Queen  Anne  at  each  new  ruse  she  employs 
to  arouse  my  desire  for  her  beauty.  The  man 
being  superior  to  the  dog  in  virtue,  sir,  and  in  self- 
control,  duty  carries  him  away.  I  leave  her 
quickly  like  some  one  who  does  not  wish  to  suc- 
cumb to  temptation.  Stop,  shall  I  give  you  an 
illustration  ?  Take,  for  example,  yesterday  ;  we 
were  in  a  carriage  in  the  fog  ;  it  was  what  I  call 
a  nice  Uttle  adultery  fog.  Madam  de  Bonnivet 
and  I  had  met  in  a  curiosity  shop,  where  she  had 
gone  to  buy  tapestry,  and  so  had  I.  What  luck  ! 
She  offered  me  a  hft." 

"  In  her  own  carriage  ?"  I  asked. 

"  You  would  have  preferred  a  public  carriage, 
would  you  not  ?"  he  asked  me.  "  I  do  not,  for 
let  me  tell  you  that  carriage  rides  are  very  fashion- 
able. There  are  innocent  and  guilty  ones.  You 
can  imagine  us,  then,  in  this  small  carriage  filled 
with  the  perfume  of  woman,  one  of  those  vague 
and  penetrating  aromas  in  which  a  hundred  scents 


126  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

are  mingled.  Queen  Anne  and  I  were  in  this 
soft,  warm  atmosphere.  The  fog  enveloped  the 
carnage.  I  took  her  hand,  which  she  did  not 
withdraw.  I  pressed  the  little  hand,  and  it  re- 
turned my  pressure.  I  put  my  arm  around  her 
waist.  Her  loins  bent  as  if  to  avoid  me,  in  reality 
to  make  me  feel  their  suppleness.  She  turned  to 
me  as  if  to  become  indignant,  but  in  reality  to 
envelop  me  with  her  staring  eyes  and  madden 
me.  My  lips  sought  her  lips.  She  straggled,  and 
suddenly  instead  of  insisting,  I  repulsed  her.  It 
was  I  who  said  :  '  No,  no,  no.  It  would  be  too 
wicked.'  I  could  not  do  that  to  her,  and  made 
use  of  the  expressions  usual  to  her  sex  at  such 
times.  I  it  was  who  stopped  the  carriage  and  fled  ! 
With  a  mistress  on  the  other  side  of  Paris,  who 
loves  and  pleases  you,  to  whom  to  bring  the  desire 
awakened  by  her  rival,  this  is  truly  the  most  de- 
lightful of  sports.  It  is  very  natural  that  Queen 
Anne  will  allow  herself  to  be  taken.  The  feehng 
that  she  is  passionately  desired  and  at  the  same 
time  shunned  is  likely  to  provoke  the  worst  follies 
in  a  woman,  who  is  a  little  corrupt  and  a  little 
cold,  a  little  vain  and  a  little  curious." 

"  Then  if  I  have  understood  you,  my  part  at 
to-morrow's  dinner  would  consist  of  lying  to  the 
same  effect  as  yourself  when  Madam  de  Bonnivet 
speaks  to  me  of  Camille  ?  In  that  case  it  would 
be  useless  for  me  to  accept  the  invitation.  I  will 
not  commit  that  villainy." 

"  Villainy  is  a  hard  word.  Why  not  ?  "  asked 
Jacques  with  a  laugh. 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  127 

.  "  Because  I  should  feel  remorse  at  contributing 
to  the  success  of  this  dirty  intrigue,"  I  replied, 
getting  quite  angry  at  his  laughter.  "  Whether 
Madam  de  Bonnivet  does  or  does  not  deceive  her 
husband  is  no  business  of  mine,  nor  would  it  con- 
cern me  if  either  of  you  injured  yourself  through 
the  villainous  game  you  are  playing.  But  when 
I  meet  real  sentiment,  I  take  my  hat  off  to  it,  and 
I  do  not  trample  on  it.  It  is  real  sentiment  which 
Camille  Favier  feels  for  you.  I  heard  her  speak 
of  her  love,  the  evening  I  saw  her,  while  you  were 
at  supper  with  your  coquette.  I  saw  her,  too, 
the  next  day  when  she  received  your  cruel  reply. 
This  girl  is  true  as  gold.  She  loves  you  with  all 
her  heart.  No,  no,  I  will  not  help  you  to  betray 
her,  all  the  more  so  as  the  crisis  is  graver  than  yoii 
think." 

I  was  wound  up.  I  went  on  telling  him  with 
all  the  eloquence  at  my  command  the  discoveries 
I  had  made  and  omitted  to  tell  him  a  week  before  : 
the  troubles  of  the  pretty  actress,  what  he  had 
been,  what  he  was  to  her,  the  ideal  of  passion  and 
art  she  beheved  she  was  realizing  in  their  liaison, 
the  temptations  of  luxury  which  surrounded  her, 
and  the  crime  it  is  to  provoke  the  first  great  decep- 
tion in  a  human  being.  At  last  I  was  expending, 
in  defending  the  httle  Blue  Duchess  to  her  lover, 
the  warmth  of  the  unfortunate  love  I  myself 
felt  for  her.  And  I  was  so  jealous  of  it  !  It  was 
a  grievous  sentimental  anomaly  which  Jacques 
did  not  discern  in  spite  of  his  keenness.  He  could 
only  see  in  my  protests  the  deplorable  naïveté  with 


128  THF  RTJTF  DUCHESS 

which  he  always  believed  me  to  be  contaminated, 
and  he  replied  with  a  smile  more  indulgent  than 
ironical — 

"  Did  she  tell  you  this  in  the  two  or  three  hours 
you  were  together  ?  It  is  not  a  boat  she  has 
manned,  it  is  a  squadron,  a  flotilla,  an  armada  ! 
But,  my  friend,  do  you  think  I  have  not  noticed 
the  feelings  of  our  little  Blue  Duchess  ?  It  is 
perfectly  true  that  she  was  chaste  before  meeting 
me.  But  as  she  first  threw  herself  at  my  head 
and  knew  perfectly  well  what  she  was  doing,  how- 
ever modest  she  may  have  been,  you  will  permit 
me  to  have  no  remorse,  and  all  the  more  so  since 
I  have  never  concealed  from  her  that  I  only 
offered  her  a  fantasy  and  that  I  did  not  love  her 
with  real  love.  Even  I  have  my  own  code  of 
loyalty  to  women,  although  you  don't  think  so. 
Only  I  place  it  so  as  not  to  deceive  them  upon 
the  quality  of  the  little  combination  to  which  I 
invite  them  in  courting  them.  It  is  for  them  to 
accept  and  take  the  consequences.  If  to-day 
Camille  experiences  the  temptation  for  luxury, 
which,  by  the  way,  I  think  very  natural,  this 
temptation  has  nothing  to  do  with  her  broken 
ideal.  She  makes  that  pretty  excuse  to  herself, 
and  that,  I  think,  is  very  natural  too.  She  is 
almost  as  sincere  as  the  young  girls  who  make  a 
wealthy  marriage  and  excuse  themselves  for  a  first 
love  betrayed.  Ler  her  take  her  rich  lover — 3'ou 
can  give  her  my  permission  ;  let  him  pay  for  dresses 
for  her  by  Worth,  horses,  carriages,  a  house  and 
jewels  !     Let   her   take   him    this   afternoon,    to- 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  129 

morrow,  and  I  swear  to  you  I  shall  have  no  more 
remorse  than  I  have  in  lighting  this  cigarette.  It 
will  even  amuse  me  when  she  does  so.  In  the 
meantime,  accept  Madam  Bonnivet's  invitation. 
You  will  have  a  good  dinner,  a  thing  never  to  be 
disdained,  and  then  you  can  thwart  my  dirty 
intrigue,  as  you  call  it,  as  much  as  you  please.  In 
love  it  is  just  as  at  chess.  Nothing  is  so  interesting 
as  playing  in  difficulties.  Besides,  I  am  foolish 
to  suppose  even  for  a  moment  that  you  would 
not  go.     You  will  go,  I  can  see  it  in  your  eyes." 

"  How  ?"  I  asked  him,  somewhat  confused  at 
his  perspicacity.  It  was  true  that  I  felt  my  reso- 
lution to  refuse  destroyed  by  his  presence  alone. 

"  How  ?  By  your  look  while  you  are  listening 
to  me.  Would  you  pay  such  attention  if  the  story 
did  not  passionately  interest  you  ?  It  means  that 
you  would  imagine  us  all  three,  Camille,  Madame 
Bonnivet  and  myself,  rather  than  pass  from 
knowing  us.  I  told  you  the  other  day,  you  are  a 
born  looker-on  and  confidant.  You  have  been 
mine.  You  suddenly  became  Camille's,  and  now 
you  must  become  Madam  de  Bonnivet's.  You 
will  receive  the  confidences  of  this  woman  of  the 
world  ;  you  will  receive  them  and  believe  them  !  " 
he  insisted,  accentuating  each  syllable,  and  he 
concluded  :  "  That  will  be  the  punishment  for  your 
blasphemies.  But  it  has  just  occurred  to  me, 
when  do  you  begin  the  portrait  of  the  Blue 
Duchess  ?  " 

It  must  be  admitted  that  this  devil  of  a  man 
was  not  wrong  ;  as  a  matter  of  fact,  his  adventure 

E 


130  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

hypnotized  me  with  irresistible  magnetism.  After 
all,  I  did  not  leave  his  study  till  I  had  written  with 
his  pen  on  his  paper  a  letter  of  acceptance  to 
Madam  Bonnivet.  Besides  that,  I  had  done 
worse.  In  spite  of  the  spasm  of  unreasonable 
and  morbid  jealousy  which  clutched  my  heart 
each  time  I  thought  of  the  intercourse  between 
Jacques  and  his  mistress,  I  made  an  appointment 
to  begin  the  promised  portrait,  not  that  of  the 
ideal  dream  Camille,  but  of  the  real  one,  who  be- 
longed to  this  man,  who  gave  him  her  mouth,  and 
her  throat,  and  who  surrendered  herself  entirely 
to  him,  and  we  arranged  the  first  sitting  for  the 
day  after  Madam  de  Bonnivet's  dinner,  in  my 
studio  ! 

I  repented  of  these  two  weaknesses  before  I  was 
down  the  staircase  of  the  house  in  the  Place  Dela- 
borde,  but  not  enough,  alas,  to  return  and  take 
back  my  note,  which  Jacques  had  promised  to 
deUver.  My  remorse  increased  as  directly  I 
entered  my  studio  I  saw  Camille's  head  upon  my 
easel.  Dehcious  in  her  phantom  and  unfinished 
hfe,  she  smiled  at  me  from  her  frameless  canvas. 
"  No,  you  will  never  finish  me,"  she  seemed  to 
say  to  me  with  her  sad  eyes,  her  fine  oval  face, 
and  her  mouth  framed  in  a  melancholy  smile. 
It  is  certain  that  neither  that  evening  nor  during 
the  hours  which  followed  had  I  the  courage  to 
touch  that  poor  head,  nor  have  I  done  so  since. 
The  enchantment  was  broken.  I  passed  the 
ensuing  hours  in  a  state  of  singular  agitation.  I 
was  seized  again  by  the  fever  of  my  new-born 


I 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  Î3Î 

passion,  and  this  time  I  had  neither  the  hope  nor 
the  will  to  struggle.  I  felt  that  this  week  of 
renunciation  and  seclusion  with  the  ideal  Camille 
had  given  me  the  only  joy  that  this  passion,  which 
was  so  false  and  also  condemned  in  advance,  would 
ever  give  me.  These  joys  I  renounced  were  sym- 
bolized to  me  by  this  chimerical  portrait. 

But  to  continue,  I  spent  the  day  before  Madam 
de  Bonnivet's  dinner  in  contemplation.  Then 
when  the  moment  of  departure  had  come,  I  wished 
to  bid  adieu  to  this  picture,  or,  rather,  to  ask  its 
pardon.  I  expei'ienced  in  the  presence  of  this 
dream  portrait,  wdth  which  I  had  spent  a  sweet 
romantic  week,  as  much  inner  remorse  as  if  it  had 
been  the  image,  not  of  a  chimera,  but  of  an  actually 
betrayed  fiancée.  I  can  see  myself  now  as  I  ap 
peared  in  the  large  mirror  of  the  studio,  walking 
with  my  fur  coat  open  hke  a  guilty  man  towards  the 
canvas,  which,  after  gazing  at  for  the  last  time, 
I  was  about  to  hide  by  turning  it  face  towards  the 
wall  in  an  adjoining  garret.  Did  not  the  Camille 
Favier  of  my  fancy  disappear  to  give  place  to 
another  as  pretty,  as  touching  perhaps,  but  not 
my  Camille  ? 

But  come,  my  sweet  phantom,  one  more  sigh, 
one  more  look,  and  I  will  return  to  reality.  Reality 
was,  in  fact,  a  cab  waiting  at  the  door  to  take  me 
through  the  driving  rain  to  the  Rue  des  Ecuries 
d'Artois,  where  the  fashionable  rival  of  the  pretty 
actress  dwelt.  What  would  she  say  when  Jacques 
told  her  that  I  had  dined  at  her  rival's  house  ? 
He  would  be  sure  to  tell  her  in  order  to  enjoy  my 


132  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

embarrassment.  What  would  Madam  de  Bonni- 
vet  herself  say  ?  Why  had  she  invited  me  ? 
What  did  I  really  know  about  it  ?  What  did  I 
know  of  her,  save  that  the  sight  of  her  gave  me 
a  pronounced  feeling  of  antipathy,  and  Jacques 
had  told  me  many  unpleasant  things  about  her  ? 
But  my  antipathy  might  be  mistaken,  and  Jacques 
might  be  slandering  her  as  he  did  Camille  Favier. 
"  Suppose,"  I  asked  myself,  "  this  coquette  is 
caught  in  the  net  ?  It  is  not  very  hkely,"  I  re- 
plied, "  seeing  the  hard  blue  of  her  eyes,  her  thin 
lips,  her  sharp  profile,  and  the  haughty  harshness 
of  her  face.     But  still  she  might  !  " 

It  was  less  probable  still,  when  one  came  to 
consider  the  frequent  festivities  and  the  gaiety  at 
the  house  before  which  my  modest  cab  stopped 
in  the  course  of  this  monologue.  I  don't  consider 
myself  more  stupidly  plebeian  than  most  people, 
but  the  sensation  of  arriving  at  a  600,000  franc 
house  to  take  part  in  a  fifty  pound  dinner  in  a 
vehicle  fare  thirty-five  sous  will  always  suffice  to 
disgust  me  with  the  smart  world  without  anything 
else.  But  other  things  had  a  similar  effect  on  me, 
and  the  Bonnivets'  house  was  one  of  them,  for  it 
seemed  to  me  most  like  a  parody  of  architecture, 
in  which  the  feat  has  been  achieved  of  mingling 
twenty-five  styles  and  building  a  wooden  staircase 
in  the  English  style  in  a  Renaissance  framework  ; 
the  hang-dog  faces  of  the  footmen  in  livery  seemed 
like  a  gallery  of  mute  insolence  to  the  visitor. 
How  could  I  bear  this  adornment  of  things  and 
people  without  perceiving  its  hideous  artificiality  ? 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  133 

How  could  I  help  detesting  the  impression  made 
by  this  furniture,  which  smelt  of  plunder  and 
curiosity  shops,  for  nothing  was  in  its  place  : 
eighteenth  century  tapestry  alternated  with  six- 
teenth century  pictures,  with  furniture  of  the  days 
of  Louis  XV,  with  modern  sliding  curtains,  and 
with  bits  of  ancient  stoles  furnishing  off  a  recHning 
chair,  the  back  of  a  couch,  or  the  cushion  of  a 
divan  !  In  short,  when  I  was  ushered  into  the 
boudoir  drawing-room  where  Madam  de  Bonnivet 
held  her  assizes  I  was  a  greater  partisan  than 
ever  of  Camille,  the  brave  little  actress,  as  she  had 
appeared  to  me  in  the  modest  room  in  the  Rue  de 
la  Bar  cuillère. 

The  millionairess  rival  of  this  poor  girl  was 
reclining  rather  than  sitting  upon  a  kind  of  bed  of 
the  purest  Empire  style,  after  the  manner  in  which 
David  has  immortalized  the  cruel  grace  of  Madam 
Récamier,  the  illustrious  patroness  of  coquettes  of 
the  siren  order.  She  wore  one  of  those  dresses 
which  are  very  simple  in  appearance,  but  which 
in  reality  mark  the  limit  between  superior  elegance 
and  the  other  kind.  The  greatest  artists  in  the 
business  are  the  only  ones  successful  with  them. 
It  consisted  of  a  skirt  of  a  thick  dead-black  silk 
which  absorbed  the  light  instead  of  reflecting  it. 
A  cuirass,  a  jet  coat  of  mail,  applied  to  this  stuff, 
showed  distinctly  the  shape  of  the  bust,  and 
allowed  the  whiteness  of  the  flesh  to  shine  through 
at  the  bare  places  at  the  shoulders  and  arms.  A 
jet  girdle,  a  model  of  those  worn  in  ancient  statues 
on  tombs  by  queens  of  the  Middle  Ages,  followed 


Î34  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

the  sinuous  line  of  the  hips,  and  terminated  in  two 
pendants  crossed  very  low  down.  Enormous 
turquoises  surrounded  by  diamonds  shone  in  this 
pretty  woman's  ears.  These  turquoises  and  a  golden 
serpent  on  each  arm — two  marvellous  copies  of 
golden  serpents  in  the  Museum  at  Naples — were 
the  only  jewels  to  hghten  this  costume,  which  made 
her  figure  look  longer  and  more  slender  even  than 
it  was.  Her  blonde  pallor,  heightened  by  the 
contrast  of  this  sombre  harmony  in  black  and  gold, 
took  the  delicacy  of  hving  ivory.  Not  a  stone 
shone  in  her  clear  golden  hair,  and  it  looked  as  if 
she  had  matched  the  blue  of  her  turquoise  with 
the  blue  of  her  eyes,  so  exactly  similar  was  the 
shade,  except  that  the  blue  of  these  stones,  which 
is  supposed  to  pale  when  the  wearer  is  in  danger, 
revealed  tender  and  almost  loving  shades  when 
compared  with  the  metallic  and  implacable  azure 
of  her  eyes.  She  was  fanning  herself  with  a  large 
feather  fan  as  black  as  her  dress,  on  which  was  a 
countess'  coronet  encrusted  in  roses.  It  was  with- 
out doubt  a  slight  effort  towards  a  definite  relation- 
ship with  the  real  Bonnivet.  I  have  found  out 
since  that  she  went  further  than  that.  But  the 
real  Due  de  Bonnivet,  on  the  occasion  of  a  charity 
fête,  where  Queen  Anne  had  risked  claiming  a 
title,  had  interposed  with  a  lordly  and  inflexible 
letter,  and  all  that  was  left  of  this  thwarted  pre- 
tension was  this  coronet,  embroidered  here  and 
there,  without  a  coat  of  arms. 

Near  this  slender  and  dangerous  creature,  so 
blonde  and  white  in  the  dead-black  sheath  of  her 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  135 

spangled  corsage  and  skirt,  Senneterre,  "  the 
beater,"  was  sitting  on  a  very  low  chair,  almost 
a  footstool,  while  Pierre  de  Bonnivet  warmed  at 
the  fire  the  soles  of  his  pumps  as  he  talked  to  my 
master  Miraut.  The  latter  seemed  somewhat 
surprised,  and  not  very  pleased  to  see  me.  Dear 
old  master  ;  if  he  only  knew  how  wrong  he  was  in 
thinking  that  I  was  his  rival  for  a  20,000-franc 
portrait  !  But  this  pastel  merchant  comes  of  the 
race  of  good  giants.  Besides  his  six  foot  in  height, 
and  suppleness  from  exercise,  his  porter's  shoulders, 
broadened  still  more  by  his  daily  boxing,  his 
Francis  I  profile,  sensual,  fine,  and  gluttonous,  he 
has  retained,  beneath  the  trickery  of  the  profes- 
sion, a  generous  temperament.  So  he  received 
me  with  a  friendly  though  a  little  too  patronizing 
greeting  ! 

"  Ah  !  then  you  know  my  pupil  ?"  he  said  to 
Madam  de  Bonnivet.  "  He  has  great  abiUty, 
only  he  lacks  assurance  and  confidence  in  him- 
self." 

"  But  there  are  so  many  who  have  too  much 
of  these  qualities,"  the  young  woman  interposed, 
casting  an  evil  glance  at  the  pastelist  who  seemed 
disconcerted.     "  He  makes  up  for  them." 

"  Good  !  "  I  thought,  "  she  is  not  in  a  good 
humour,  nor  even  poUte.  It  is  quite  true  that 
Miraut  is  a  httle  too  conceited.  But  he  is  a  man 
of  great  talent,  who  has  done  her  a  great  honour 
by  coming  here.  How  bad-tempered  she  looks 
this  evening  !  Bonnivet,  too,  looks  preoccupied 
in  spite  of  his  mask  of  gaiety  !   I  will  stand  by  what 


136  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

I  told  Jacques  the  other  day.  1  would  not  trust 
either  the  woman  or  the  husband.  These  cold- 
looking  blondes  are  capable  of  anything,  and  so  are 
strong  full-blooded  men  like  the  husband.  Now 
we  shall  see  Jacques'  manœuvre.  To  think  that 
he  could  be  so  happy  quite  simply  with  his  little 
friend  !     Life  is  really  very  badly  arranged." 

This  fresh  internal  monologue  was  almost  as 
distinct  as  I  have  written  it.  This  doubHng  process 
proved  the  extreme  excitement  of  my  faculties. 
For  my  clear,  distinct  thoughts  did  not  prevent 
me  being  all  attention  to  the  conversation  which 
was  reinforced  by  the  presence  of  Count  and 
Countess  Abel  Mosé.  He  is  an  accomplished  type 
of  the  great  modern  financier.  Strange  to  say, 
this  kind  of  face  which  is  often  met  with  among 
the  Jews  is  not  displeasing  to  me.  I  can  see  in  it 
the  setting  of  a  real  passion.  For  people  of  this 
kind  the  vanity  of  their  club  and  drawing-room 
life  has  at  least  its  realism.  In  playing  the  part 
of  the  noble  host  they  prove  they  have  mounted 
one  step  of  the  social  ladder.  The  life  of  fashion 
is  to  them  a  second  business,  which  is  in  juxta- 
position to  the  other  and  continues  it.  It  is  a 
step  gained  ;  but  what  a  life  theirs  must  be  to 
endure  the  wear  and  tear  of  these  two  existences, 
anxious  cares  alternating  with  exhausting  plea- 
sures, and  years  made  up  of  days  on  the  Stock 
Exchange  followed  by  dinners  in  tovm.  Then, 
too.  Madam  Mosé  is  very  beautiful  in  her  oriental 
faéhion,  with  nothing  of  the  conventional  style 
and   irregular   features   about   her  !     She   is   the 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  137 

Biblical  Judith,  the  creature  with  eyes  burning 
like  the  sands  in  the  desert,  over  which  the  soldiers 
of  Holophernes  passed.  "  Who  could  hate  the 
Hebrews  when  they  have  such  women  ?"  I  said 
with  them. 

Five  minutes  afterwards  pretty  Madam  Ethorel 
entered  with  her  husband;  then — "  naturally,"  as 
Miraut  said  between  his  teeth,  to  make  me  under- 
stand that  he  knew  the  secrets  of  this  society — 
Cnicé  the  collector  ;  then  came  Machault,  a  pro- 
fessional athlete,  whom  I  have  seen  fence  at  the 
School  of  Arms  ;  then  appeared  a  certain  Baron 
Desforges,  a  man  of  sixty,  whose  eye  at  once  struck 
me  as  being  almost  too  acute,  and  whose  colour 
was  too  red,  like  that  of  a  man  of  the  world  grown 
old.  The  conversation  began  to  buzz,  obligatory 
questions  as  to  the  weather  and  health  being 
mingled  with  previous  scandals  and  recollections 
of  the  day,  which  were  very  often  full  of  ennui 
and  simply  mentioned  for  the  sake  of  something 
to  say.     I  can  still   hear  some   of  these   phrases. 

"  You  don't  take  enough  walking  exercise," 
Desforges  was  saying  to  Mosé,  who  had  declared 
that  he  felt  a  little  heavy  after  a  meal,  "  People 
digest  with  their  legs,  that  is  what  Doctor  Noirot 
is  always  dinning  into  my  ears." 

"  But   the   time  ?  "    the   financier   replied. 

"Try  massage  then,"  Desforges  went  on.  "  I 
will  send  Noirot  to  you.  Massage  is  the  essence 
of  exercise." 

"  You  did  not  buy  these  two  candelabra  ?  " 
Crucé  was  saying  to  Ethorel.     "  At  three  thousand 


138  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

francs,  my  dear  fellow,  they  were  being  given 
away." 

"  You  were  not  skating  this  morning,  Anne, 
dear,"  Madam  Mosé  was  saying  to  Madam  de 
Bonnivet  ;  "  it  is  a  fine  chance  to  take  advantage 
of  the  early  winter.  Before  the  first  of  January, 
too  !  Think  of  it  !  It  does  not  happen  twice  in 
a  century.     I  looked  for  you  there  !  " 

"  So  did  I,"  Madam  Ethorel  said.  "  You  would 
have  been  amused  at  the  sight  of  that  old  fool 
Madam  Hurtrel  on  the  ice,  running  after  young 
Liauran.  She  was  red  in  the  face  and  perspiring, 
while  he  was  carrying  on  with  Mabel  Adrahan." 

"  It  amuses  you,  madam.  But  if  I  said  I  pitied 
her  ?  "  Senneterre  said. 

"  Respect  love  !  We  know  her,"  Madam  de 
Bonnivet  interrupted  with  that  bitter  laugh  which 
I  had  noticed  at  the  theatre.  She  was  visibly  in 
a  nervous  state,  which  I  explained  to  myself  when 
the  dinner  was  served  and  Jacques  had  not  arrived. 
I  was  soon  to  learn  both  the  false  excuse  and  the 
real  reason  of  his  absence.  During  the  first  course 
the  flowers  and  silver  upon  the  dinner-table  di- 
rected the  conversation  to  the  subject  of  the  taste 
of  the  period  and  mistakes  made  on  the  stage. 
The  guests  all  combined  to  praise  the  skill  of  the 
late  M.  Perrin  in  the  putting  on  of  modern 
comedies.  The  talk  drifted  to  actual  plays,  and 
an  allusion  being  made  to  La  Duchesse  Blue, 
one  of  the  guests,  Machault,  I  think  it  was, 
said — 

"  Has  its  run  ceased  altogether  ?     As  I  passed 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  139 

along  the  Boulevard  I  saw  there  was  a  change  of 
bill  at  the  Vaudeville  this  evening.  Do  you  know 
the  cause  of  it  ?  " 

Because  Bressoré  has  a  severe  cold  and  is  too 
unwell  to  act.  I  heard  that  by  accident  at  the 
Club,"  Mosé  said,  "  and  the  play  rests  upon  his 
shoulders.  He  is  clever,  but  he  is  the  only  one 
in  the  company,"  he  went  on,  and  this  proved 
that  Madam  de  Bonnivet's  antipathy  to  Camille 
Favier  had  not  escaped  the  dark,  observant  eyes 
of  the  business  man, 

"  It  appears  to  be  contagious  in  the  theatre," 
said  Bonnivet.  "  Molan  should  have  been  here, 
but  he  excused  himself  at  the  last  moment.  He 
has  a  slight  attack  himself." 

As  he  said  this  he  looked  at  his  wife,  who  did 
not  even  deign  to  listen  to  him.  She  was  talking 
to  Miraut,  who  was  near  her.  Neither  her  metallic 
voice  nor  her  hard,  clear  eyes  betrayed  the  least 
sign  of  trouble,  but  the  cruel  curves  she  sometimes 
had  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth  made  it  more 
cruel,  and  a  little  throbbing  of  the  nostrils,  im»- 
perceptible  but  to  one  of  my  profession  or  a 
jealous  man,  revealed  that  the  absence  of  Jacques 
was  the  cause  of  her  nervousness.  At  the  same 
time  I  felt  that  Bonnivet  was  scrutinizing  my  face 
with  the  same  look  which  he  gave  to  his  wife,  and 
three  things  became  evident  to  me  :  one,  and  the 
most  terrible  was  that  the  husband  was  suspicious 
of  the  relations  between  Queen  Anne  and  my  com- 
rade ;  the  second  was  that  my  companion  had 
seized  the  opportunity  of  the  change  of  bill  to 


140  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

provoke  in  the  coquette  an  access  of  spiteful 
jealousy  by  passing,  or  pretending  to  pass,  the 
evening  with  Camille  Favier  ;  the  third  was  that 
this  simple  ruse  wounded  the  vanity  of  the  pretty 
actress'  rival  to  the  quick.  These  three  in- 
stinctive conclusions,  two  of  which  at  least  were 
fraught  with  the  most  serious  consequences,  were 
sufficient  to  render  the  commonplace  dinner  pas- 
sionately interesting  to  me. 

I  could  not  help  concentrating  my  whole  atten- 
tion on  Pierre  de  Bonnivet  and  his  wife.  On  the 
other  hand,  I  feared  that  directly  we  left  the 
dinner-table  they  would  try  to  make  me  talk,  and 
I  did  not  wish  to  betray  Molan  either  to  her,  or 
particularly  to  him.  The  easily  distended  veins 
of  his  full-blooded  forehead,  his  greenish  eyes  so 
quick  to  display  anger,  and  the  coarse  red  hair, 
which  grew  right  down  his  arms  to  his  fingers,  were 
all  signs  of  brutaUty  which  gave  me  the  impression 
that  he  was  a  redoubtable  person.  Tragic  action 
would  be  as  natural  to  him  as  grievous  timidity 
to  me  or  fatuous  insolence  to  Jacques.  The 
evening  ought  not  to  end  without  furnishing  me 
with  the  proof  that  my  diverse  intuitions  had  not 
deceived  me.  We  had  just  left  the  dinner-table 
for  the  smoking-room  when  Machault  said  to  me 
as  he  took  my  arm — 

"  You  see  a  good  deal  of  Jacques  Molan,  don't 
you.  La  Croix  ?  " 

"  We  were  at  college  together,  and  I  see  him 
sometimes  stiU,"  I  rephed  evasively. 

"  Ah,  well  !     If  you  see  him  in  a  day  or  two, 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  141 

warn  him  that  Senneterre  met  him  to-night  when 
on  his  way  here.  Consequently  they  know  his 
cold  and  headache  are  only  an  excuse.  It  is  of 
no  other  importance,  but  with  Anne  it  is  always 
better  to  be  well  informed." 

I  had  no  time  to  question  the  brave  swordsman, 
who  had  smiled  an  unaccountable  smile  as  he 
uttered  this  enigmatic  phrase,  for  just  then  Pierre 
de  Bonnivet  came  towards  us  with  a  box  of  cigars 
in  one  hand  and  a  box  of  cigarettes  in  the  other. 
I  took  a  Russian  cigarette,  while  the  robust 
gladiator  put  into  his  mouth  a  veritable  tree  trunk, 
wrinkled  and  black.  Then  before  the  coffee, 
espying  upon  the  table  a  bottle  of  fine  champagne, 
he  filled  a  little  glass,  which  he  proceeded  to  enjoy, 
saying  as  he  did  so — 

"  This  is  an  excellent  appetizer  with  which  to 
start  the  evening." 

"  Will  you  have,  M.  la  Croix,  a  cup  of  coffee  ? 
No.  A  drop  of  Kummel  or  Chartreuse  ?  "  Bonni- 
vet asked.  "  Not  even  a  thimbleful  of  cherry 
brandy  ?  " 

"  No  liqueur  or  coffee  this  evening,"  I  said,  and 
I  added  with  a  smile  :  "I  have  not  the  stomach 
or  the  nerves  of  a  Hercules." 

"  There  is  no  need  to  be  as  strong  as  Machault 
to  hke  alcohol.  Take  our  friend  Molan,  for  in- 
stance," the  husband  said,  watching  me  as  he 
pronounced  the  name.  Then  after  a  short  silence 
he  said  :  "  Do  you  know  what  is  really  the  matter 
with  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  rephed.     "  Perhaps  he  has 


142  THE  BLUE  DLXHESS 

overworked  himself.     He  works  harder  than  he 
drinks." 

"  But  he  loves  little  Favier  still  more  ?  "  my 
questioner  insisted,  giving  me  another  keen  glance. 

"  He  loves  little  Favier  more  still,"  I  replied  in 
the  same  indifferent  tone. 

"  Has  this  affair  been  going  on  for  long  ?  "  the 
husband  asked  after  a  little  hesitation. 

"  As  long  as  La  Duchesse  Blue  has  been 
running.     It  is  a  honeymoon  in  its  first  quarter." 

"  But  his  indisposition  this  evening  when  she  is 
not  acting  ?"  he  asked  me  without  entirely  formu- 
lating his  question,  though  I  completed  it  in  my 
reply,  giving  it  a  cynical  form  which  relieved  my 
discomfort. 

"  Would  it  be  an  excuse  to  pass  an  evening  with 
her  and  afterwards  the  night  ?  I  don't  know,  I 
am  sure,  but  it  is  very  likely." 

I  could  see  at  these  words,  which  I  hope  if 
Camille  Favier  ever  reads  these  pages  she  will 
forgive,  the  face  of  the  jealous  husband  brighten. 
Evidently  the  note  of  excuse  sent  by  Molan  at 
the  last  minute  had  not  seemed  to  him  genuine. 
He  had  found  out  that  Madam  de  Bonnivet  was 
annoyed  at  it,  and  asked  himself  the  reason.  Did 
he  think  that  he  had  stumbled  upon,  between  his 
wife  and  Jacques,  one  of  those  momentary  quarrels 
which,  more  than  constant  attentions,  denounce 
a  love  intrigue  ?  He  suspected  that  I  was  in  my 
comrade's  confidence.  He  thought  I  knew  the 
real  reason  of  his  absence,  and  his  suspicion  was 
soothed  at  the  sincerity  of  my  voice.     As  jealous 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  143 

people,  being  all  imagination,  mistrust  themselves 
and  reassure  themselves  at  the  same  time,  he 
assumed  his  most  charming  manner  to  say  to 
Baron  Deforges,  who  came  in,  having  delayed  a 
little  while  in  joining  us — 

"  Ah,  well,  Frederick,  were  you  pleased  with 
the  dinner  ?  " 

"  I  have  just  called  Asmé  to  congratulate  him 
on  the  little  timbales  and  to  make  an  observation 
about  the  joie  gras,"  the  Baron  repUed.  "  I 
shall  not  tell  you  what  it  was,  but  you  shall  judge 
from  experience.  He  is,  as  I  have  always  said, 
what  I  call  a  real  chef.     But  he  is  still  young." 

"  He  will  shape  better,"  said  Bonnivet  as  he 
threw  me  a  meaning  look,  "with  a  master  hke  you." 

"He  is  the  seventh  who  has  passed  through 
my  hands,"  Deforges  said  with  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulders  and  in  the  most  serious  tones,  "  not  one 
more,  since  I  have  known  what  eating  really  is. 
The  seventh,  do  you  hear  ?  Then  I  pass  them 
on  to  you  and  you  spoil  them  by  your  praise. 
Chefs  are  hke  other  artists.  They  are  not  proof 
against  the  comphments  of  the  ignorant." 

I  had  reckoned  on  going  for  a  short  time  from 
the  smoking-room  to  the  drawing-room  and,  after 
a  short  period  of  poUte  and  general  conversation 
there,  on  leaving  in  the  English  fashion,  taking 
advantage  of  the  return  of  the  smokers  or  the 
arrival  of  fresh  guests  to  do  so.  When  I  reached 
the  drawing-room  there  were  only  the  two  ladies 
who  had  dined  and  Senneterre  there.  Such  small 
parties  being  unfavourable  to  private  conversation, 


144  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

I  had  reason  to  hope  that  Madam  de  Bonnivet 
would  not  have  the  opportunity  of  cornering  and 
confessing  me.  I  httle  knew  this  capricious  and 
authoritative  woman  who  was  also  well  acquainted 
with  her  husband's  ways.  She  had  reaHzed  that 
it  would  not  do  for  her  to  talk  to  me  in  Bonnivet's 
presence.  Directly  I  appeared  she  rose  from  the 
couch  where  she  was  sitting  by  Madam  Ethorel's 
side  facing  Madam  Mosé,  with  Senneterre  on  a  low 
chair  at  her  feet  holding  her  fan.  She  came  towards 
me  and  led  the  way  into  a  second  drawing-room 
which  opened  out  of  the  first,  where  she  sat  down 
upon  a  couch  near  me. 

"  We  can  talk  more  quietly  here,"  she  began. 
Then  she  sharply  said  :  "  Is  your  portrait  of  Made- 
moiselle Favier  far  advanced  ?  "  She  had  a  way 
of  questioning  which  betrayed  the  despotism  of 
the  rich  and  pretty  woman  who  regards  the  person 
to  whom  she  is  talking  in  the  Hght  of  a  servant  to 
amuse  or  inform  her.  Each  time  I  come  across 
this  unconscious  insolence  in  a  fashionable  doll 
an  irresistible  desire  seizes  me  to  give  her  a  dis- 
agreeable answer.  Jacques  had  without  doubt 
speculated  upon  this  trait  of  my  character  in 
making  me  play  the  part  of  exciter,  which,  how- 
ever, I  refused  with  such  loyal  energy  to  do, 

"  The  portrait  of  Mademoiselle  Favier  ?  Why, 
I  have  not  even  begun  it,"  I  replied. 

"Ah  !  "  she  said  with  a  nasty  smile,  "  has 
Molan  changed  his  mind  and  forbidden  it  ?  You  are 
in  love  with  the  pretty  little  woman,  M.  la  Croix' 
confess  it  ?  " 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  145 

"  In  love  with  her  ?"  I  replied.  "  Not  the 
least  bit  in  the  world." 

"  It  looked  like  it  the  other  day,"  she  said, 
"  and  Jacques  Molan  was,  in  fact,  a  little  bit 
jealous  of  you." 

"  AU  lovers  are  more  or  less  jealous,"  I  inter- 
posed, and  jdelding  to  the  desire  I  felt  to  hurt  her, 
I  added  :  "He  is  very  wrong  ;  Camille  Favier 
loves  him  with  all  her  heart,  and  she  has  a  big 
heart." 

"  It  is  a  great  misfortune  for  her  talent,"  Madam 
de  Bonnivet  said,  knitting  her  blonde  brows  just 
enough  to  let  me  know  that  I  had  stiTick  home. 

"  I  cannot  agree  with  you,  madam,"  I  replied 
this  time  with  conviction.  "  Little  Favier  has  not 
only  adorable  beauty,  but  she  has  a  sort  of  genius 
too,  and  a  charming  heart  and  mind." 

"  One  would  never  suspect  it  from  seeing  her 
act,"  she  replied,  "  at  least,  in  my  opinion.  But 
•if  so,  it  is  worse  still.  Happiness  has  never  yet 
inspired  a  writer.  But  I  am  sure  this  affair  will 
not  last  long.  Molan  will  find  out  that  she  has 
deceived  him  with  a  side  scene  with  a  member  of 
the  company  and  then " 

"  You  are  wrongly  informed  about  this  poor 
girl,  madam,"  I  interrupted  more  quickly  than 
was  absolutely  pohte.  "  She  is  very  noble,  very 
proud,  and  quite  incapable  of  a  mean  action." 

"  But  that  does  not  prevent  her  being  kept  by 
Molan,"  she  interrupted,  "  if  my  information  is 
accurate,  and  eating  up  his  author's  rights  to  the 
last  sou." 


146  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

"  Kept  !  "  1  tried.  "  No,  madam,  yfuir  informa- 
tion is  very  inaccurate.  If  she  desired  luxury  she 
could  have  it.  She  has  refused  a  house,  horses, 
dresses,  jewels,  and  all  the  things  which  tempt  one 
in  her  position,  to  give  herself  where  her  heart  is. 
She  loves  Jacques  with  a  most  sincere  and  beauti- 
ful attachment." 

"  I  pity  her  if  you  are  right,"  she  said  with  a 
sneer  ;   "  for  your  friend  is  not  much  good." 

"  He  is  my  friend,"  I  replied  with  an  aggressive 
dryness,  "  and  I  am  original  enough  to  defend  my 
friends." 

"  That  is  a  reason  why  one  should  attack  them 
all  the  more."  This  pretty  woman's  line  face 
expressed,  as  she  made  this  commonplace  ob- 
servation, such  detestable  wickedness,  and  the 
conversation  betrayed  on  her  part  such  odious 
meanness  and  hatred,  that  my  antipathy  for  her 
increased  to  hate,  and  I  replied  to  her  insolence  by 
another — 

"In  the  world  in  which  you  live,  perhaps,  madam, 
but  not  in  our  world  where  there  are  a  few  decent 
people." 

She  looked  at  me  as  I  launched  this  impertinence, 
which  was  not  even  clever,  at  her.  I  read  in  her 
blue  eyes  less  anger  than  surprise.  One  of  the 
peculiar  characteristics  of  these  coquettish  jades  is 
to  esteem  those  who  oppose  them  in  some  degree 
or  manner.     She  smiled  an  almost  amiable  smile. 

"  Molan  told  me  that  you  were  original,"  she 
replied.  "  But  you  know  I  am  somewhat  original, 
too,  and  I^  think  we  should  get  on  together." 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  147 

Here  was  a  sudden  change  of  front  in  her  conver- 
sation, and  I  was  again  given  an  exhibition  of  that 
female  intelligence  which  in  the  box  had  enabled 
her  to  hit  upon  the  words  to  please  me.  Now  she 
talked  to  me  of  my  travels.  She  herself  had  visited 
Italy.  Without  doubt  she  had  there  met  some 
distinguished  artist  who  had  acted  as  her  guide,  for 
she  enunciated  ideas  which  contrasted  strangely 
with  the  mediocrity  of  her  previous  conversation. 
Assuredly  the  ideas  were  not  her  own,  but  she 
retained  them  and  realized  that  now  was  her 
chance  to  place  them.  She  made  in  this  way  two 
or  three  ingenuous  remarks  upon  Pei"ugins  and 
Raphael,  notably  upon  the  illogicalness  of  the 
latter,  in  eliminating  from  his  Madonnas  every 
Christian  sentiment  to  give  them  too  much  beauty, 
a  paganism  of  health  irreconcilable  with  the  mystic 
beyond  and  his  dream.  She  had  such  a  way  of  ap- 
pearing to  understand  what  she  was  saying,  that  I 
did  not  think  ridiculous  the  admiration  with  which 
the  ninny  Sennet  erre,  who  had  joined  us,  listened 
to  her  remarks.  This  jealous  fellow  had  not  been 
able  to  prevent  himself  from  interrupting  our  tête-à- 
tête,  and  as  Madam  de  Bonnivet,  strange  to  say,  did 
not  bully  him,  he  began  to  lavish  his  benevolence 
upon  me.  He  had  his  plan,  too,  the  final  scene 
of  his  naïve  thinking  out  being  a  Vaudeville 
scene  that  evening  when  I  experienced  for  a  moment 
a  little  dramatic  shudder.  He  insisted,  when  I  said 
good  night,  before  eleven,  on  accompanying  me, 
and  he  began  to  sing  the  praises  of  Queen  Anne 
as  we  walked  along  the  Champs  Elysées.     Then 


148  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

as  we  passed  the  Avenue  d'Antin  he  asked  me 
carelessly — 

"  Have  you  ever  done  any  pistol  shooting  ?  " 

"  Never,"  I  replied. 

"  Bonnivet  is  a  first-rate  shot,"  he  went  on, 
"  quite  first  class.  Go  and  see  his  target  cards 
some  day.  He  has  put  ten  shots  in  a  space  as 
large  as  a  20  franc  piece  ;  it  is  quite  a  curiosity,  I 
can  assure  you." 

He  left  me  to  go  along  the  Rue  Francois  I,  where 
he  Hved,  with  this  sinister  warning. 


CHAPTER    VI 

"AH!  did  he  work  the  infallible  pistol  trick 
jL\.  on  you  ?  "  Jacques  said  with  a  burst  of 
his  loudest  laughter  when  we  met  the  following  day. 
"  That  is  very  good.  He  looked  you  in  the  face 
to  make  you  understand  that  if  you  court  Madam 
de  Bonnivet,  you  run  the  risk  of  getting  in  your 
head  one  of  the  bullets  with  which  the  husband 
every  day  salutes  the  sheet-iron  man  at  the  range. 
He  did  better  with  me.  He  took  me  to  see  the 
targets." 

This  conversation  took  place  at  the  breakfast- 
table,  for  Jacques  had  called  on  the  following  morn- 
ing as  soon  as  his  four  pages  were  finished  to  ask 
for  the  classic  egg  and  cutlet,  a  thing  he  had  never 
done  before.  This  curious  haste  proved  to  me  how 
interested  he  was  in  the  success  of  his  manœuvre 
in  diplomatic  gallantry.  I  had  not  received  him 
very   cordially, 

"Tricks  Uke  that  are  not  very  attractive,"  I 
said  to  him  ;  "you  force  me  to  accept  an  invitation 
to  dinner  which  is  odious  to  me,  on  purpose  to 
meet  you  there,  and  then  you  do  not  turn  up." 
"  But  you  must  admit  that  it  was  very  jolly  !  " 
he  replied  in  such  a  gay  tone  that  I  had  not  the 


I5C  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  ' 

heart  to  be  angry  any  more.  After  he  had  very 
minutely  questioned  me  as  to  the  diverse  attitudes 
of  different  persons,  concluding  with  the  ridiculous 
warning  of  Senneterre  the  Jealous,  he  said  seri- 
ously— 

"  You  noticed  nothing  in  particular  then,  even 
you  who  know  how  to  see  ?  Yes,  you  painters  do 
not  understand,  but  you  know  how  to  see.  Nothing 
in  the  intercourse  of  Machault  and  Queen  Anne,  for 
instance  ?  " 

"Stop,"  I  replied;  "  certainly  when  he  warned 
me  that  Senneterre  had  met  you,  Machault  gave 
me  a  singular  look.  Why  do  you  ask  me  that  ? 
Is  he  paying  court  to  her  too  ?  " 

"  I  think,  if  she  has  already  risked  a  false  step, 
it  is  with  Machault." 

"  With  Machault  ?"  I  cried.  "  With  Machault, 
the  drunken  colossus,  the  gladiator  in  bkck,  the 
fencing  machine,  while  she  herself  is  such  a  fine 
woman,  though  a  little  too  angular  for  my  taste, 
and  so  aristocratic  ?  It  is  not  possible.  The 
other  day,  too,  you  told  me  that  you  thought  she 
was  true  to  her  husband." 

"  Ah,  my  dear  fellow  !"  he  said  with  a  nod, 
"  you  do  not  know  that  when  one  wishes  to  find 
out  of  whom  an  ideal  woman,  a  siren,  a  madonna,  an 
angel,  is  the  mistress,  one  must  first  think  of  the 
most  vulgar  person  of  her  own  circle.  There  has 
been  a  good  deal  of  gossip  about  her,  I  know,  and 
she  knows  that  I  know.  I  have  not  concealed  the 
fact  from  her.  Consequently,  the  presence  of 
Machault  last  evening  was  designed  to  produce 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  151 

upon  me  exactly  the  same  eftect  which  I  produced 
upon  her  by  my  absence.  I  took  the  initiative,  and 
I  was  right.  Besides,"  he  added  with  ahnost 
hateful  acrimony  in  his  voice,  "  one  of  two  things, 
either  she  has  already  had  lovers  and  she  is  a  jade. 
In  that  case  I  should  be  the  greatest  of  fools  if  I 
did  not  have  her  in  my  turn.  Or  else  she  has  not 
had  lovers  and  is  a  coquette  who  will  not  make  me 
go  the  same  way  as  the  others." 

"  If  you  are  not  wasting  your  time,"  I  repHed  to 
him,  "  I  shall  be  very  surprised.  I  studied  her 
yesterday,  and  as  you  admit  the  eagle  eyes  of  our 
profession,  let  me  tell  you  that  I  have  diagnosed  in 
her  the  signs  of  the  most  complete  absence  of  tem- 
perament, which  are  a  little  throat,  smaU  hips,  skin 
without  down,  thin  lips,  the  lower  one  receding  a 
little,  hard  and  lean  nostrils,  and  metallic  voice. 
I  would  wager  that  she  has  no  palate,  and  that  she 
does  not  know  what  she  eats  or  drinks.  She  is  a 
creature  all  intellect  without  a  shadow  of  sensu- 
aUty." 

"  But  these  cold  women  have  just  as  many 
intrigues  as  the  others  !  "  he  interrupted.  "  You 
do  not  know  that  class  then  ?  They  give  them- 
selves, not  to  surrender  themselves,  but  to  take 
others.  "WTien  it  is  necessary'  for  them  to  grip  a 
lover  tightly,  a  lover  they  need,  they  do  so  with 
their  person  the  more  easily  since  the  pleasure  of  it 
is  a  matter  of  indifference  to  them.  They  know 
that  possession  detaches  some  men  and  attaches 
others.  It  is  simply  a  question  of  persuading  them 
that   one  is  of  the  kind   who  become  attached 


152  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

in  this  way,  when  one  is  not.  Then,  too,  there  are 
cold  women  who  are  hunters,  and  then  !  Some- 
times I  place  Madam  de  Bonnivet  in  the  first  group, 
sometimes  in  the  second.  I  do  not  pretend  to 
solve  the  riddle  of  this  sphinx.  But  faihng  the 
answer  to  the  riddle  of  this  sphinx,  I  will  have  the 
sphinx  in  person,  or  my  name  is  not  Jacques 
Molan.  jThen,  as  you  have  helped  me  and  are  just, 
you  shall  have  a  reward.  You  will  no  longer 
reproach  me  with  that  dinner  in  the  Rue  des 
Ecuries  d'Artois.  You  shall  be  paid  for  your 
unpleasant  task.  What  time  is  it  ?  Half-past 
one.  Prepare  to  see  in  ten  minutes  Mademoiselle 
Camille  Favier  herself  enter  with  her  respectable 
mother  to  arrange  about  the  portrait.  Is  not  that 
good  of  me  ?  But  I  have  been  better  still,  and  I 
have  not  told  her  where  you  dined  yesterday." 

He  had  hardly  told  me  of  this  visit,  so  disturbing 
to  me,  in  his  joking  way,  when  the  servant  said 
that  two  ladies  were  waiting  for  me  in  the  studio. 
God  !  how  my  heart  beat  when  I  was  about  to 
enter  the  presence  of  the  woman  I  had  sworn  to 
avoid  !  How  my  heart  beats  even  now  at  my 
vivid  and  precise  recollection  of  this  meeting  long 
ago  !  I  beheve  that  I  can  see  the  two  of  them, 
mother  and  daughter,  in  the  crude  light  of  that 
bright  January  day  which  filled,  by  means  of  the 
large  glass  bay,  the  studio  with  a  cold  pale  light. 
Madam  Favier,  more  placid  and  smiling  than  ever, 
walked  from  canvas  to  canvas,  looking  at  them 
with  her  great  laughing  eyes.  She  would  suddenly 
ask  me  what  was  the  net  cost  of  a  picture,  and  what 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  153 

did  it  fetch,  with  as  much  simplicity  as  if  it  were 
a  question  of  a  dress  or  a  curio.  Camille  sat  down 
opposite  a  copy  of  "  L'Allégorie  du  Printemps," 
which  I  had  made  in  Florence  so  lovingly.  In  the 
long  and  supple  dancers  of  the  divine  Sandro,  who 
lent  with  tender  grace  their  blonde  and  dreamy 
though  bitter  faces,  the  httle  Blue  Duchess  could 
recognize  her  sisters.  She  did  not  see  them,  ab- 
sorbed as  she  was  in  a  memory,  the  nature  of  which 
I  could  easily  guess,  seeing  that  she  had  not  acted 
the  previous  evening,  and  had  found  a  way  to 
spend  that  free  evening  with  Jacques,  thanks  to  a 
complaisant  cousin.  It  hurt  me  to  detect  around 
her  tender,  almost  blood-shot  eyes  a  pearly  halo  of 
lassitude,  and  on  her  mouth  tremors  which  told 
of  happiness.  But  what  made  me  feel  worse  still 
was  that  Jacques,  directly  he  came  in,  copied 
the  photographs  I  had  used  to  make  my  dream- 
picture  of  her — that  chimerical  picture  of  my  week 
of  folly,  which  happily  I  had  put  aside  and  well 
concealed  ;  and  at  the  moment  Camille  was  greet- 
ing me  with  a  slightly  embarrassed  smile,  he  dis- 
played those  instructive  pictures  and  said  malici- 
ously— 

"  You  can  see,  mademoiselle,  that  if  Vincent 
has  not  been  to  see  you  again  as  he  promised,  he 
has  not  forgotten  you." 

"  It  was  to  better  prepare  the  studies  for  my 
future  picture,"  I  stammered.  "  The  great  painter 
Lenbach  does  so." 

"  Who  contradicted  you  ?  "  Molan  went  on 
even  more  maliciously. 


154  THE  RT,UE  DUCHESS 

"  Oh  !  you  have  not  picked  out  the  best  ones," 
the  mother  interrupted  as  she  showed  her  daughter 
the  photograph  I  loved  best.  "  You  see,"  she  said, 
"that  in  spiteofyourprohibition,  this  picture  which 
is  such  a  bad  likeness  of  you  is  still  being  sold. 
Come,  now,  is  it  anything  like  her  ?  I  ask  you  to 
decide  the  point,  M.  La  Croix." 

"  I  was  three  years  younger,"  Camille  said, 
"  and  he  did  not  know  me  then."  Taking  the 
photograph  she  looked  at  it  in  her  turn.  Then 
putting  it  by  the  side  of  her  face  so  that  I  could  see 
the  model  and  the  portrait  at  the  same  time,  she 
asked  me  :   "  Have  I  changed  very  much  ?  " 

Poor  little  Blue  Duchess,  the  sincere  lover  of 
the  least  loving  of  my  friends,  romantic  child 
stranded  by  an  ironical  caprice  of  fate  in  the  pro- 
fession most  fatal  to  mystery,  silence  and  solitude, 
when  the  pretty,  delicate  flowers  of  your  woman's 
soul  needed  a  warm  atmosphere  of  protective 
intimacy,  say,  did  you  suspect  my  emotion  when 
I  looked  at  your  face,  paled  by  the  pleasures  of 
the  previous  evening,  smiling  at  me  thus  by  the 
side  of  another  face,  the  face  of  the  innocent  child 
you  were  once,  when  I  might  have  loved  you  as  my 
betrothed  wife  ?  No,  certainly  you  did  not.  For 
you  were  good  ;  and  if  you  had  guessed  what  I 
suffered,  you  would  not  have  imposed  upon  me 
this  useless  ordeal.  You  would  not  on  that  visit 
have  arranged  with  me  the  details  of  that  series  of 
sittings  \^■hich  began  the  following  day  and  were 
for  me  a  strange  and  sorrowful  Calvary  !  Yes, 
however,  perhaps  you  did  guess,  for  there  was  sad- 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  155 

ness  and  pity  in  your  smile — sorrow  for  yourself 
and  pity  for  me.  You  saw  so  clearly  from  that 
moment  that  I  bore  an  affection  for  you  which  was 
too  quickly  awakened  to  be  the  reasonable  and 
simple  friendship  of  a  comrade  !  You  saw  it 
without  wishing  to  admit  it,  for  love  is  an  egoist. 
Yours  had  need  of  being  related,  to  be  encouraged 
in  its  hopes,  comforted  in  its  doubts,  and  pitied  in 
its  grief.  Who  would  have  rendered  you  the 
service  of  lending  himself  as  a  complaisant  echo 
of  your  passion  like  I  did  ?  If  it  cost  me  my  rest 
for  weeks  and  weeks  ;  if  on  your  departure  from 
my  studio  after  each  sitting,  just  as  after  your 
first  visit,  I  remained  for  hours  struggling  against 
the  bitterness  of  which  I  have  not  yet  emptied  my 
heart,  you  did  not  wish  to  know,  and  I  had  not  the 
strength  to  condemn  you  to  do  so.  After  all,  you 
made  me  feel,  as  Jacques  used  to  say,  and  there  will 
come  a  time  perhaps  when,  passing  my  memories 
in  review,  I  shall  bless  you  for  the  tears  I  shed, 
sometimes  as  if  I  w^ere  no  more  than  eighteen,  on 
your  account,  who  did  not  see  them.  Had  you  seen 
them,  3^ou  would  have  refused  to  believe  in  them, 
to  preserve  the  right  to  initiate  me  into  the  inner 
tragedy  in  which  you  then  lived,  and  which  by  a 
counter  stroke,  alas  !  was  not  spared  me. 

If  I  allowed  these  impressions  to  go  on,  I  should 
fill  the  pages  with  groans  hke  this,  and  never  reach 
the  tragedy  itself,  or  rather  the  tragic  comedy, 
in  which  I  played  the  part  of  the  ancient  Chorus, 
the  ineffectual  witness  of  catastrophies,  who  de- 
plored them   without   preventing  them.     Let   us 


I5b  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

employ  the  only  remedy  for  this  useless  elegy. 
Let  us  note  the  little  facts  clearly.  I  have  men- 
tioned that  this  visit  of  mother  and  daughter  had 
as  its  object  the  arrangement  of  a  series  of  sittings. 
I  have  also  mentioned  that  the  first  of  these  sittings 
was  placed  for  the  following  day. 

On  the  following  day  Camille  arrived,  not 
accompanied  by  her  mother,  but  alone.  It  was 
so  almost  always  during  the  four  weeks  which  this 
painting  lasted,  but  during  the  whole  of  this  time 
the  work  did  not  succeed  in  interesting  the  artist 
in  me,  for  my  attention  was  too  much  absorbed  by 
the  adorable  child's  confidences,  confidences  which 
were  ceaselessly  interrupted,  repeated  and  pro- 
longed by  the  interruptions  till  the  details  were 
multipHed  and  complicated  to  infinity.  Yes, 
many  Httle  facts  come  into  my  mind  in  trying  to 
recall  these  private  sittings  which  were  always 
somewhat  bitter  to  me.  This  Hberty  proved  to 
me  how  many  favourable  opportunities  her  intrigue 
with  Jacques  had  obtained.  Too  many  little 
scenes  recur  to  me,  and  too  many  multiple  and 
over-lapping  impressions  which  my  memory  is 
apt  to  confuse.  It  is  like  a  tangled  skein  of  thread 
I  am  trying  in  vain  to  unravel.  Let  us  see  if  I  can 
reduce  them  to  some  kind  of  order  in  classif5dng 
them. 

These  recollections,  which  are  so  numerous  and 
so  similar  that  they  become  mixed,  are  distributed, 
when  I  reflect,  into  three  distinct  groups  ;  and 
these  groups  mark  the  stages  of  this  purely  moral 
drama,  in  M^hich  Camille,  Jacques  and  Madam  de 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  157 

Bonnivet  were  engaged,  in  its  progress  to  a  real 
and  terrible  drama.  When  I  reflect  again,  it  was 
the  difference  between  these  three  groups  of  emo- 
tions which  justified  me  in  not  making  a  success 
of  this  portrait.  Had  I  been  an  artist  who  was 
an  imperturbable  master  of  execution,  in  place  of 
being  what  I  am,  half  an  amateur,  always  uncertain, 
and  a  sort  of  "  Adolphe  "  of  the  brush,  all  intention 
and  touches,  all  scratching  out  and  alteration,  I 
should  not  have  been  able  to  execute  a  unique 
canvas  under  such  conditions.  It  was  not  a  woman 
I  had  before  me  during  these  too  long  and  too  short 
sittings,  it  was  three  women. 

One  after  the  other  I  will  resuscitate  these  three 
women,  I  wiU  make  them  pose  before  my  eyes, 
according  to  the  taste  of  my  memory,  as  if  the 
irreparable,  and  such  an  irreparable,  were  not 
between  us  !  One  after  the  other  they  come  back 
to  sit  in  this  studio  where  I  am  writing  these  Unes. 
One  after  the  other  I  hsten  to  them  telling  me, 
the  first  her  joy,  the  second  her  sorrow,  and  the 
third  the  fury  of  her  jealousy  and  the  fever  of  her 
indignation  ;  and  yet  to-day  I  do  not  know  before 
which  of  the  three  women,  and  during  which  of 
the  three  periods  I  suffered  the  most,  my  suffering 
being  the  greater  because  I  was  obliged  to  be 
silent  ;  and  behind  each  of  the  confidences  Httle 
Favier  gave  me,  whether  she  were  happy,  melan- 
choly, or  angry,  I  could  see  the  hard  silhouette 
of  the  elegant  rival,  to  whose  caprices  this  joy, 
sorrow  or  anger  were  subordinated.  Oh,  God  ! 
what    punishment   for   hybrid  sentiments,    those 


158  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

sentiments  which  have  not  the  courage  to  go  to 
the  end  in  the  logic  of  sacrifice  or  gratification, 
I  experienced  during  those  sittings  !  But  still  I 
would  like  to  begin  them  again.  I  am  writing  of 
misery  again  and  composing  more  elegies.  Let 
me  get  on  with  the  facts,  facts,  facts  ! 

The  first  period,  that  of  joy,  was  not  of  long 
duration.  The  scene  which  marked  its  culminat- 
ing point  took  place  on  the  fourth  of  these  sittings. 
The  scene,  though  a  fine  expression,  merely  con- 
sisted of  a  conversation  without  any  other  incident 
than  Camille's  entry  into  the  studio  with  a  bunch 
of  roses — ^large,  heavy  roses  of  all  shades — some  pale 
with  the  dewy  pallor  of  her  face,  others  blonde 
and  almost  of  the  same  golden  tint  as  her  beautiful 
hair,  others  as  red  as  her  pretty  mouth  with  its 
lower  Up  so  tightly  rolled,  others  dark,  which 
by  contrast  appeared  to  light  up  her  bloodless 
colour  that  morning.  The  question  was,  which  of 
these  flowers  I  should  choose  for  her  to  hold  in  her 
hand.  I  wished  to  paint  her  in  an  absolute  unity 
of  tone,  hke  Gainsborough's  blue  boy.  She  had 
to  stand  wearing  a  dress  of  blue  gauze,  that  of  her 
part,  with  blue  silk  mittens,  blue  velvet  at  the  neck, 
blue  ribbons  at  the  sleeves,  her  feet  in  blue  satin 
shoes,  with  no  jewels  but  sapphires  and  turquoises 
on  a  ground  of  peacock  blue  velvetine,  with  no 
head-dress  but  the  blonde  cloud  of  her  fine  hair, 
with  the  back  of  one  of  her  hands  resting  upon  her 
supple  hip,  while  she  offered  a  rose  with  her  other 
hand. 

"  It  is  my  youth  that  I  will  offer  Jacques,"  she 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  ±50 

said  to  me  that  morning  while  we  studied  the  pose 
together  ;  "  my  twenty-two  years  and  my  happiness. 
I  am  so  happy  now  !  " 

"  You  don't  experience  any  more  evil  tempta- 
tions, then  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Do  you  remember  ?  "  she  replied,  laughing 
and  blushing  at  the  same  time.  "  No,  I  don't  feel 
them  now.  I  turned  Tournade  out  of  my  dressing- 
room,  and  pretty  quickly,  I  can  assure  you.  But 
do  you  know  what  pleases  me  most  ?  I  never  see 
that  ugly  woman  now  ;  you  remember,  Madam  de 
Bonnivet.  She  does  not  come  to  the  theatre,  and 
the  other  day  Jacques  ought  to  have  dined  with 
her,  but  he  did  not  go.  I  am  quite  sure  of  that,  for 
he  wrote  his  letter  of  excuse  in  my  presence.  It 
was  the  evening  Bressoré  could  not  act  :  there  was 
a  change  of  bill  and  I  was  ftee  for  the  evening. 
I  wanted  so  badly  to  ask  him  if  we  could  spend  it 
together,  but  I  did  not  dare.  He  suggested  it 
himself,  and  now  every  day  I  have  a  fresh  proof  of 
his  tenderness.  He  is  coming  forme  presently  to 
take  me  to  lunch.  Ah  !  how  I  love  him,  how  I 
love  him  !     How  proud  I  am  of  loving  him  !  " 

What  answer  could  I  make  to  such  phrases, 
and  what  could  I  do  but  allow  her  to  remain  enrap- 
tured by  this  illusion  as  she  was  enraptured  by 
the  scent  of  the  roses  which  she  inhaled,  closing 
as  she  did  so  her  clear  azure  eyes — another  note  of 
blue  in  the  harmony  which  I  sought  ?  What 
could  I  do  but  suffer  in  silence  at  the  idea  that  this 
recrudescence  of  tenderness  in  the  sensual  and 
complex  Molan  was,  without  doubt,  a  trick,     Some 


i6o  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

harshness  on  the  other  woman's  part  was  certainly 
the  cause  of  it.  Camille  took  for  the  marks  of 
passionate  ardour  the  fever  of  excitation  into  which 
Madam  de  Bonnivet  had  thrown  Jacques  with- 
out gratifying  it.  When  a  woman  has,  as  the 
pretty  actress  so  nicely  put  it,  her  twenty  years  of 
age  and  her  youth  to  offer,  she  cannot  guess  that 
in  her  arms  her  lover  is  thinking  of  another  woman, 
and  exalting  his  senses  by  her  image  !  That  morn- 
ing I  kept  silent  as  to  what  I  knew.  To  make  her 
laugh  and  keep  myself  from  weeping,  I  told  her  the 
story  of  a  real  duchess  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
who  wished  to  give  her  miniature  to  her  lover  before 
he  took  the  field  with  the  troops.  She  went  to  the 
painter  with  her  eyes  so  fatigued  by  the  tender  folly 
of  her  good-bye  that  the  painter  declared  he  would 
not  continue  the  portrait  if  she  did  not  become 
more  virtuous,  for  her  beauty  had  changed  so. 

"  All  !  "  the  duchess  said  as  she  put  her  arms 
round  her  lover's  neck  in  the  painter's  presence, 
"  if  that  is  the  case,  then  life  is  too  short  to  have 
one's  portrait  painted." 

"  Ah  !  how  true  what  he  has  just  been  saying  is, 
Jacques  !  "  Camille  cried  as  she  went  to  meet 
Jacques  who  came  in  at  that  moment.  I  can  see 
her  now  leaning  her  loving  head  upon  the  knave's 
shoulder,  the  latter  being  condescending,  indulgent, 
almost  tender,  because  I  was  there  to  assist  at  this 
foolish  explosion  of  affection.  This  picture  is  a 
very  good  résumé  of  the  first  period  which  might 
be  «ititled  :    Camille  happy  ! 

CamiUe  sad  !     That  w.^is.  the  title  of  the  second 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  i6i 

period  which  began  almost  immediately  and  lasted 
much  longer.  The  scene  which  sums  up  the  period 
in  my  memory  is  one  quite  unhke  that  of  the  roses, 
the  scent  of  which  she  inhaled  with  such  confident 
ecstasy,  and  that  of  the  kiss  she  gave  Jacques  with 
such  charming  shamelessness.  This  time  it  was 
about  the  eleventh  or  twelfth  sitting.  I  had  noticed 
iov-  some  days  that  my  model's  expression  had 
changed.  I  had  not  dared  to  question  her,  for 
I  was  just  as  much  afraid  to  learn  that  Jacques 
treated  her  well  as  that  he  treated  her  badly.  That 
morning  she  was  to  come  at  half-past  ten,  and  it 
was  not  ten  yet.  I  was  engaged  in  looking  through 
a  portfoHo  of  drawings  after  the  old  Florentine 
masters,  without  succeeding  in  engrossing  myself 
in  their  study.  That  is  what  takes  the  place  of 
opium  with  me  in  my  bad  moments.  Usually 
merely  looking  at  these  sketches  recalls  to  me  the 
frescoes  of  Ghirlandajo,  of  Benozzo,  of  Fra  Filippo 
Lippi,  of  SignoreUi,  and  many  others  ;  I  find  intact 
in  me  that  fervour  for  the  ideal  which  made  me 
almost  mad  in  my  youth,  when  I  went  from  little 
town  to  httle  town,  from  church  to  church,  and 
from  cloister  to  cloister. 

In  those  days  a  half-effaced  silhouette  of  the 
Madonna,  hardly  visible  upon  a  bit  of  wall  eaten 
up  by  the  sun,  was  enough  to  make  me  happy  for 
an  afternoon.  The  profiles  of  virgins  dreamed  by 
the  old  Tuscans,  the  bent  figures  of  theii-  young 
lords  in  their  puffy  doublets,  the  minute  horizons 
in  their  vast  landscapes,  with  battlements  and 
campaniles  upon  the  eminences,  roads  bordered 

F 


l62  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

by  C3^ress  trees  and  valleys  glistening  with  running 
water — ^all  this  charm  of  primitive  art  was  there 
imprisoned  in  this  portfolio  of  sketches  and  ready 
to  emerge  from  it  to  charm  my  fantasy.  But  my 
imagination  was  elsewhere,  occupied  with  this 
problem  in  aesthetics  very  far  distant  from  the 
frescoes  and  convents  of  Pisa  or  Sienne.  "  Camille 
was  very  sad  again  yesterday.  Has  the  absurd 
Jacques  resumed  with  the  absurd  Madam  de 
Bonnivet  ?  "  That  was  what  I  was  asking  myself, 
instead  of  by  the  help  of  my  sketches  revisiting 
Italy,  dear  divine  Italy,  the  land  of  beauty. 

The  reply  to  my  question  as  to  the  cause  of 
Camille's  sadness  was  given  me  by  Molan  himself. 
I  had  not  had  any  private  conversation  with  him 
since  our  chance  breakfast  on  the  day  previous  to 
the  first  sitting.  I  did  not  expect  to  see  him  enter 
my  studio  that  morning  more  than  any  other 
morning,  knowing  his  rule  to  write  four  pages  before 
midday,  and  the  vigour  with  which  this  methodical 
purveyor  of  literature  conformed  to  it.  So  when 
his  voice  disturbed  me  I  was  for  a  moment  really 
apprehensive.  The  servant  had  opened  the  door 
without  me  hearing  him,  reclining  as  I  was  upon 
a  divan  turning  over  the  portfolio  of  sketches  as 
if  I  were  rendered  unconscious  by  my  excess  of 
anxiety.  I  had  no  time  to  form  an  hypothesis  in 
my  own  mind.  My  unexpected  visitor  had  real- 
ized my  astonishment  from  my  face,  and  he 
anticipated  my  questions  by  saying— 

"  Yes,  here  I  am  !     You  did  not  expect  me,  did 
you  ?     Make  your  mind  easy,  I  am  not  come  to 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  163 

inform  you  that  Camille  has  asphyxiated  berself 
with  a  coke  fire  of  the  latest  fashion,  nor  that  she 
has  thrown  herself  into  the  Seine  because  of  my 
bad  conduct.  By  the  way,  the  portrait  is  not  a 
bad  one.  You  have  made  progress,  much  progress, 
with  it.  But  that  is  not  the  reason  of  my  visit. 
Camille  will  be  here  directly,  and  I  want  you  to  tell 
her  that  I  dined  with  you  last  evening,  and  that  we 
did  not  separate  till  one  o'clock  this  morning  !  " 

'  '  You  have  conceived  the  brilUant  idea  of  involv- 
ing me  in  your  Hes,"  I  replied  irritably  "  I  thought 
I  told  you  the  part  did  not  suit  me." 

"  I  know,"  he  said  in  a  half  apologetic  tone 
obviously  destined  to  wheedle  me,  "  and  I  under- 
stand your  scruples  so  thoroughly  that  I  have 
left  you  in  peace  all  this  time.  But  matters  pro- 
gress in  the  other  direction,  and  if  you  had 
been  able  to  assist  me,  Bonnivet  would  no  longer 
pass  under  the  Arc  de  Triomphe.  Excuse  the 
pleasantry  worthy  of  the  late  Paul  de  Kock.  But 
this  time  it  is  not  on  my  account,  but  for  Camille's 
sake  ;  I  want  to  spare  her  an  unnecessary  sorrow. 
Have  you  noticed  how  sad  she  has  been  lately  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  thought  it  was  a  sorrow  of  your 
making." 

"  You  are  turning  to  psychology,"  he  replied  not 
without  irony.  "  It  is  very  much  out  of  fashion,  I 
warn  you.  But  don't  let  us  exchange  epigrams," 
he  went  on  seriously.  "  The  httle  one  will  be  here 
to  pose  directly,  and  if  I  met  her  we  should  be  lost. 
I  will  put  you  in  possession  of  the  facts  in  five 
minutes.     I  must  first  tell  you  that  she  is  again 


l64  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

on  the  track  of  my  flirtation  with  Queen  Anne, 
on  whom,  in  parenthesis,  you  have  not  called  and 
left  your  card.  By  the  way,  give  me  one  and  I 
will  leave  it  for  you  on  ray  next  visit.  As  the  flirta- 
tion is  at  the  moment  very  accentuated,  Camille  is 
very,  very  jealous  and  very  distrustful.  In  short, 
yesterday  there  was  the  inverse  of  the  other 
comedy.  You  recall  the  dinner  trick,  don't  you  ? 
I  received  about  four  o'clock  two  notes,  one  from 
Madam  de  B signifying  that  .  .  .  But  the  con- 
tents of  this  note  would  make  you  jump  if  I  told 
them  to  you.  In  reality  you  are  very  naïve  and  still 
beUeve  in  a  woman's  modesty.  Confine  yourself  to 
theknowledge  that  inherhusband's  absence — ^he  has 
been  called  into  the  country  to  see  a  sick  relative — 
Queen  Anne  had  arranged  to  dine  and  spend  the 
evening  with  me.  The  other  note  was  from 
Camille,  to  teU  me  that  in  the  absence  of  her  mother, 
who  was  also  called  into  the  country  by  a  sick 
relative,  knowing  that  I  was  disengaged  for  the 
evening,  she  had  arranged  for  us  to  dine  and 
return  home  together  after  La  Duchesse   Curtain. 

"  So  you  naturally  preferred  Madam  de  B ,and 

told  CamiUe  that  you  were  dining  with  me  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  told  you  everything,"  he  said. 
"  I  thought  it  better  to  receive  the  note  too  late. 
For  I  might  have  gone  out  at  four  o'clock  and  not 
have  returned  to  dinner  ?  She  will  be  here  directh'. 
Be  careful  not  to  mention  my  visit  this  morning. 
Say  incidentally,  without  appearing  to  intend 
to  do  so,  that  you  had  some  friends  to  dinner 
yesterday,    and   that   I   was   among   them.     She 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  165 

beKeves  you.  When  she  reaches  home  she  will 
find  a  wire  from  '  yours  truly  '  confirming  the  story, 
and  the  trick  is  done,  unless  Senneterre " 

"  What  has  Senneterre  to  do  with  it  ?  "I 
asked. 

"  I  told  you  that  he  was  Queen  Anne's  platonic 
lover,  and  you  observed  it  yourself  ;  he  is  platonic, 
and  as  jealous  as  if  he  had  the  right  to  be  so. 
Consequently  he  detests  me.  He  goes  stiU  further 
and  watches  me.  The  idea  has  occurred  to  him 
to  join  hands  with  CamiUe.  He  had  the  audacity 
to  ask  me,  in  an  off-hand  way,  to  introduce  him,  and 
four  or  five  times  afterwards  I  found  him  in  her 
dressing-room.  Has  she  not  mentioned  it  to 
you  ?  No.  He  is  quite  likely  to  have  told  her, 
before  last  evening,  as  if  by  accident,  that  Bonnivet 
was  leaving  Paris  with  the  sole  object  of  letting 
her  loose  at  me  and  of  putting  a  spoke  in  the  wheel 
of  the  carriage  in  which  Queen  Anne  has  at  last 
consented  to  ride.  Do  not  be  too  scandahzed, 
we  have  only  got  as  far  as  the  carriage.  There 
is  no  question,  too,  between  us  of  what  some 
women  of  the  world  call  so  quaintly,  '  the  Httle 
crime.'  But  it  is  a  quarter  past  ten  and  1  must  go. 
Drop  me  a  hne  this  afternoon." 

"  What  about  this  morning's  four  pages  ?"  I 
asked  as  I  accompanied  him  to  the  door. 

"  f  have  given  myself  a  hoHday,"  he  rephed  ; 
"my  two-act  comedy  is  finished,  and  if  I  bring 
off  this  coup  I  shall  give  myself  quite  ten  days'  holi- 
day. What  do  you  think  of  my  luck  ?  How 
fortunate  that  this  adventure  with  Queen  Anne 


i66  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

should  have  happened  this  month,  between  two 
periods  of  work  ?  " 

This  audacious  person  was  quite  right  to  talk  of 
his  luck.  Had  he  been  a  moment  later  in  going 
out  he  would  have  met  his  poor  mistress  on  my 
staircase.  Camille,  who  was  usually  a  little  later 
than  half-past  ten  in  arriving,  was  this  morning 
early.  The  old  Breton  clock,  to  whose  monotonous 
voice  I  had  so  long  hstened  in  my  studio  like  a 
constant  and  never-heeded  warning  not  to  waste 
work-time  in  reverie,  made  the  time  twenty-five 
minutes  past  ten.  When  the  charming  girl  ap- 
peared I  could  see  at  a  glance  that  she  was  again 
experiencing  an  acute  crisis  of  sorrow.  Insomnia 
had  encircled  her  eyes  with  bluish  rings.  Fever 
had  cracked  and  dried  up  her  hps,  which  were 
generally  so  fresh,  young  and  full.  A  sombre 
flame  burned  in  the  depths  of  her  eyes.  Insomnia 
had  made  her  cheeks  Hvid,  and  with  her  lingers 
she  was  mechanically  twisting  a  little  cambric 
handkerchief  with  red  flowers  on  it  from  which 
her  teeth  had  torn  aU  shape.  I  had  before  me 
the  living  image  of  jealousy  and  despair.  What  a 
contrast  with  the  victorious  smile  I  had  just 
seen  hovering  around  the  lips  and  in  the  eyes  of  the 
man  who  had  caused  that  pain  and  thought  as 
much  of  it  as  of  his  first  article  !  I  realized  once 
more  that  morning  how  easily  pity  leads  to  hes. 
The  unhappy  creature  had  hardly  taken  off  her 
hat  and  cloak  before  I  began  to  chide  her  in  our 
usual  friendly  joking  tone. 

"  I  don't  think  we  shall  do  any  work  to-day,'' 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  167 

I  said  to  her,  "  little  Blue  Duchess,  and  I  am  much 
afraid  it  will  not  be  for  the  same  motive  which 
made  the  other  Duchess  say,  a  hundred  years  ago, 
that  hfe  is  too  short  to  have  one's  portrait  painted  ; 
but  I  will  say  it  is  too  short  for  the  troubles  you 
are  making  for  yourself.  You  have  been  crying, 
confess  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  repHed  evasively.  "  But  I  did  not 
close  my  eyes  all  night.     I  did  not  even  go  to  bed." 

"  Jacques  will  scold  you  when  I  tell  him  of  your 
conduct,  and  I  warn  you  that  I  shall  report  it." 

"  Jacques,"  she  said,  knitting  the  blonde  bar  of 
her  pretty  lashes.  "  He  looks  after  me  well,  does 
Jacques,"  and  she  shrugged  her  shoulders  as  she 
repeated  :  "  He  looks  after  me  well  !  " 

"  You  are  again  unjust,"  I  said  with  my  heart 
pierced  by  remorse  at  my  own  tender  hypocrisy. 
"  You  ought  to  have  heard  him  talk  about  you 
last  evening  after  dinner  !  " 

"  Last  evening  ?  "  she  replied,  raising  her  head 
and  her  drooping  shoulders  with  a  movement 
which  shamed  me.  It  betrayed  such  passionate 
gratitude.  "  Did  you  see  Jacques  last  evening 
then  ?  " 

"  He  stopped  to  dinner,"  I  said,  "  and  we 
separated  at  an  impossible  hour  after  midnight." 

"  Is  that  true  ?  "  she  asked  in  an  almost  raucous 
voice  ;  and  she  supphcatingly  said  :  "  Tell  me  that 
it  is  true  and  I  will  believe  you.  But  don't  lie  to 
me.  From  you  it  would  be  too  horrible."  She 
seized  my  hand  in  hers  as  she  said  :  "  Do  not  be 
offended.     I  know  that  you  would  not  lend  your- 


r68  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

self  to  dereive  me  and  that  you  are  my  friend. 
I  will  explain  it  to  you  now  how  I  heard  that 
Bonnivet,  you  know,  the  husband  of  that  horrible 
woman,  was  away.  Then  I  got  the  idea  into  my 
head  that  they  would  take  advantage  of  his 
absence,  Jacques  and  her,  to  spend  the  evening 
together  ;  I  freed  myself  by  Ijàng  to  my  mother, 
the  first  time  I  have  done  so,  and  I  wrote  a  note 
to  him  asking  him  to  dine  with  me.  I  was 
well  punished  for  my  two  lies.  He  did  not  reply. 
Repeat  to  me  that  I  was  foolish,  that  he  was  with 
you  last  evening,  not  with  her.  O  God  !  let  me 
weep.  It  does  me  so  much  good.  Oh,  thank 
God  he  was  not  with  her,  not  with  her  !  " 

As  she  talked  to  me  like  this  every  word  entered 
my  conscience  like  the  most  cruel  reproach. 
She  then  burst  into  tears,  and  the  tears  which 
flowed  down  her  thin  cheeks  were  long,  abundant 
tears  which  she  wiped  with  her  poor  little  hand- 
kerchief on  which  the  edges  of  her  teeth  had  left 
traces  of  her  nei-vousness  and  anguish.  I  experi- 
enced, as  I  watched  her  genuine  tears  flow,  poignant 
remorse  for  my  falseness.  It  was  no  longer 
possible  for  me  to  go  back  on  what  I  had  said,  and 
ninety-nine  men  out  of  a  hundred  in  acting  as  I 
had  done  would  have  believed  that  they  were 
doing  right.  I  myself  had  enough  evidence  to 
realize  that  this  passage  from  pity  to  Ues,  which 
had  been  so  natural  to  me,  constituted  a  real  crime 
in  the  presence  of  such  profound  passion.  The 
heart  which  loves  and  suffers  has  a  right  to  know 
the  entire  truth  whatever  it  may  be.     The  thankful 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  169 

smiles  which  Camille  gave  me  through  her  tears 
were  almost  ph3^ically  intolerable  to  me.  Besides, 
one  does  not  deceive  for  long  the  lucidity  of  justi- 
fied jealousy.  Can  it  be  blinded  even  for  a 
minute  ?  It  is  soothed  by  being  misled  as  regards 
the  facts.  What  are  facts  ?  When  a  woman  feels 
herself  to  be  loved  even  the  most  convincing 
count  for  nothing.  When  a  woman  feels,  as 
Camille  did,  treachery  hovering  around  her  in  the 
atmosphere,  illusion  is  no  sooner  produced  on  one 
point  than  lucidity  awakens  on  another.  The 
person  goes  on  searching  in  the  dark  for  a  proof 
which  is  always  forthcoming,  very  often  by  a  chance 
which  is  all  the  more  grievous  as  it  is  not  considered. 
No.  If  it  were  to  begin  over  again  at  the  riskof  play- 
ing in  my  own  eyes  the  obvious  part  of  the  cruel 
wretch,  I  would  not  lend  myself  to  that  cowardly 
lying  charity  to  which  I  leant  myself  that  morning. 
The  only  result  of  it  was  to  render  more  painful 
the  scene,  to  the  recital  of  which  I  have  now 
come,  the  scene  which  marks  the  definite  entrance 
into  the  third  period,  that  of  furious  certainty 
and  exasperated  despair. 


CHAPTER    VII 

THREE  more  weeks  had  passed,  and  the  never- 
ending  picture  had  undergone  so  many 
touches  that  it  was  a  Httle  less  advanced  than 
before.  It  is  the  certain  sign  that  an  artistic 
creation  will  not  result  :  work  destroys  it  instead 
of  improving  it,  and  it  is  a  proof,  too,  that  we  do 
not  accomplish  works  worthy  of  the  name,  they 
are  made  in  us,  without  effort,  without  will,  almost 
unknown  to  us.  The  sittings,  too,  became  more 
and  more  irregular.  Camille  began  to  rehearse  the 
piece  to  follow  La  Duchesse  Blue,  and  sometimes 
from  one  excuse,  sometimes  another,  one  day 
because  she  was  fatigued,  another  because  she  was 
studying  her  part,  she  found  a  way  of  putting  off 
half  her  visits  to  the  studio.  When  she  did  sit 
it  was  under  very  different  conditions  to  the  first 
sittings.  Her  tête-à-tête  with  me  had  been  a 
necessity  to  her  at  the  time  of  her  sweet  confidences 
and  even  at  the  time  of  her  tender  uneasy  com- 
plaints. A  fear  came  to  her  now  that  her  jealousy 
of  her  rival  would  endow  her  with  an  acute  char- 
acter of  suspicious  inquiry. 

Not  once  during  the  three  weeks,  the  anxious 
expectancy  of  which  I  am  summarizing  here,  did 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  171 

âhe  come  alone  to  the  studio.  Sometimes  her 
mother,  sometimes  her  cousin,  sometimes  a  com- 
panion accompanied  her.  I  should  have  known 
nothing  of  her  but  for  guessing  at  her  troubles 
from  the  very  pronounced  alteration  in  her  face 
and  her  increasing  nervousness  on  the  one  hand, 
and  for  having,  on  the  other  hand,  three  conversa- 
tions with  Jacques  which  were  very  brief  but  well 
calculated  to  edify  me  as  to  the  cause  of  the  poor 
Blue  Duchess'  terrible  trouble. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  of  her,"  he  said  on  the  hrst 
occasion  with  angry  harshness;  "  I  should  be  unjust, 
for  she  loves  me  after  all.  But  what  a  character 
she  has  !  what  a  character  !  " 

"  Ah  !  so  she  still  continues  to  play  to  5^011  her 
comedy  of  the  beautiful  soul  unappreciated,"  he 
jeered  on  the  second  occasion.  "  Come,  don't  let  us 
talk  about  her  any  more." 

On  the  last  occasion  he  said  violently  :  "As  you 
are  so  interested  in  her,  I  am  going  to  give  you  a 
commission.  If  she  wants  to  reach  the  stage  when 
I  shall  not  recognize  her  if  I  meet  her,  you  can  tell 
her  she  is  well  on  the  way  to  it.  If  I  did  not  need 
her  for  my  new  comedy  I  should  not  do  so  now." 

On  neither  of  these  three  occasions  had  I  in- 
sisted on  knowing  more.  His  harshness,  irony 
and  violence  made  me  a  prey  to  a  very  strange 
fear.  I  apprehended  with  real  anguish  the  moment 
when  he  would  say  in  his  own  way  .  "  It  is  all  over. 
Madam  de  Bonnivet  is  my  mistress."  Under  any 
circumstances  it  is  saddening  to  receive  such  con- 
fidences.    At  least  I  have  always  felt  it  so.      It  is 


172  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

so  repugnant  to  me  as  to  almost  become  painful. 
Is  it  a  result  of  the  prudery  with  which  Jacques 
reproached  me  ?  Is  it  a  persistent  prejudice,  the 
remains  of  a  conventional  imposition  before  the 
woman's  modesty,  as  he  also  pretended  ? 

I  don't  think  I  am  either  prude  or  dupe.  I  see 
rather,  in  this  aversion  for  certain  confessions  which 
no  longer  allow  any  doubt  as  to  certain  faults, 
first  of  all  an  excess  of  jealousy — ^whynot  ? — and 
then  the  dramng  back  before  brutal  reality  which 
is  in  me  a  malady.  Actually  it  is  without  a  doubt 
a  rehc  of  respectable  and  pious  youth,  and  the 
evidence  that  a  woman  who  has  been  well  brought 
up,  who  is  married,  is  a  mother,  and  holds  a  posi- 
tion, has  degraded  herself  to  the  physical  filth  of 
a  gallant  adventure  is  intolerable  to  me.  In  its 
way  this  apprehension  was  the  more  iUogical  and 
foohsh  as  my  comrade's  indiscretion  had  edified  me 
as  regards  the  flirting  and  coquetry  of  which 
Madam  de  Bonnivet  was  capable.  Between 
coquetry,  even  foolishly  light,  and  precision  of 
the  last  detail  there  is  an  abyss.  In  conclusion, 
if  ever  Jacques  came  to  pronounce  to  me  that  cruel 
phrase  :  "  It  is  all  over.  Madam  de  Bormivet  is  my 
mistress,"  I  should  have  to  see  CamiUe  with  that 
phrase  in  my  memory,  and  then  the  reply  to  her 
questions  would  become  to  me  a  real  penance.  To 
know  nothing,  on  the  other  hand,  was  to  retain  the 
right  to  reply  to  the  poor  actress  without  lying  to 
her. 

This  voluntary  ignorance  did  not  prevent  me 
from  realizing  that  the  whole  of  CamiUe's  drama 


THE  BTJJE  DUCHESS  173 

of  sentiment  was  acted  on  this  single  point  :  on  the 
degree  of  intimacy  established  between  Molan  and 
Queen  Anne  depended  the  sad  remnant  of  happi- 
ness, the  last  charity  of  love  which  the  poor  child 
still  enjoyed.  So  although  I  tried  not  to  lind  out 
anything  definite  as  to  the  result  of  the  intrigue 
between  Jacques  and  Madam  de  Bonnivet,  I  did 
nothing  but  think  of  it,  multiplying  the  hypotheses 
for  and  against  the  latter's  absolute  downfall.  Alas  ! 
they  were  almost  all  for  it.  How  was  I  to  wait 
for  the  revelation  which  put  an  end  to  my  uncer- 
tainty in  a  startling  and  entirely  unexpected  way  ? 
It  was  towards  the  close  of  a  February  afternoon. 
Camille  had  missed  three  set  appointments  without 
sending  me  a  word  of  apology.  I  had  spent 
several  hours,  not  in  my  studio,  but  in  a  Httle  room 
adjoining  it  which  I  adorned  with  the  title  of 
library.  I  keep  there  a  number  of  books  which  a 
painter,  caring  for  his  art  alone,  ought  not  to  have. 
Why  is  it  that  a  poet  and  a  novelist,  even  the  most 
plastic,  can  teach  an  artist  who  must  live  by  his 
eyes  and  the  reproduction  of  forms  ?  It  is  true  I 
was  not  engaged  in  reading  but  in  dreaming, 
glasses  in  hand,  before  the  half-burnt  fire.  The 
lamp,  which  had  been  brought  in  by  a  servant, 
lit  up  half  the  room.  I  abandoned  myself  to 
that  nervous  languor  which  resolves  itself  into, 
at  such  an  hour,  in  such  a  season  and  such  a  light,  a 
half  unconscious  semi-intoxication.  An5rthing  acci- 
dental in  us  is  removed  at  such  times.  We  seem 
to  touch  the  bottom  of  our  fund  of  sensibility,  the 
nerve  itself  of  the  internal  organ  through  which  we 


174  ÎHK  BLUE  DUC  HESS 

suffer  and  enjoy,  and  the  pulp  which  composes  our 
being. 

I  felt  in  the  twilight  that  I  loved  Camille  as  I 
imagine  one  must  love  after  death,  if  anything 
of  our  poor  heart  survives  in  the  great  mute  dark- 
ness. I  told  myself  that  I  ought  to  go  and  see  her, 
that  there  was  in  the  excess  Of  my  discretion 
apparent  indifference.  I  evoked  her  and  spoke  to 
her,  telling  her  what  I  had  never  told  her,  and  what 
I  should  not  dare  to  tell  her.  It  was  at  the  moment, 
when  this  opium  of  my  dream -passion  most  deeply 
engulfed  me,  that  I  was  snatched  with  a  start 
from  my  dream  by  the  sudden  arrival  of  her  who 
was  its  chief  character.  My  servant,  whom  I  had 
told  that  I  could  see  no  one,  entered  the  room  to 
tell  me,  with  an  air  of  embarrassment,  that  Made- 
moiselle Favier  was  asking  for  me,  that  he  had 
answered  her  according  to  his  instnictions,  and  that 
she  had  sat  down  in  the  anteroom,  declaring  that 
she  would  not  go  without  seeing  me. 

"  Is  she  alone  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Quite  alone,"  he  answered  with  the  famili- 
arity of  a  bachelor's  servant  who  has  been  in  the 
same  situation  for  twenty  years — ^he  saw  my  father 
die  and  I  am  quite  familiar  with  him.  "  I  must  tell 
you  though,  sir,  that  she  seems  to  be  in  great 
trouble.  She  is  as  white  as  a  sheet  ;  her  voice  is 
changed,  broken,  and  choked.  One  would  think 
she  cannot  talk.  It  is  a  great  shame,  considering 
how  young  and  pretty  she  is  !  " 

"  Ah,  well,  show  her  in,"  I  said,  "  but  no  one 
else,  you  understand." 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  175 

"  Even  if  M.  Molan  comes  to  see  you  too,  sir  ?  " 
he  inquired. 

"  Even  if  M.  Molan  calls,"  I  replied. 

The  good  fellow  smiled  the  smile  of  an  accom- 
plice, which  on  any  other  occasion  I  should  have 
interpreted  as  a  proof  that  he  had  guessed  the  ill- 
concealed  secret  of  my  feelings.  I  did  not  have 
time  to  reflect  upon  his  greater  or  less  penetration. 
Camille  was  already  in  the  studio,  and  the  image 
of  despair  was  before  me,  a  despair  verging  on 
madness.  I  said  to  her  as  I  made  her  sit  down  ; 
"  Whatever  is  the  matter  ?  "  and  sat  down  myself. 
She  signed  to  me  to  ask  her  no  questions,  as  it  was 
impossible  for  her  to  reply.  She  put  her  hand 
upon  her  breast  and  closed  her  eyes,  as  if  internal 
anguish  there  in  her  breast  was  inflicting  upon  her 
suffering  greater  than  she  could  bear.  For  a 
moment  I  thought  she  was  about  to  expire,  so 
frightful  was  the  convulsive  pallor  of  her  face. 
When  her  eyes  (^ened  I  could  see  that  no  tear  moist- 
ened her  blue  eyes,  eyes  which  were  now  quite 
sombre.  The  flame  of  the  most  savage  passion 
burned  in  them.  Then  in  a  raucous  and  almost 
bass  voice,  as  if  a  hand  had  clutched  her  throat, 
she  said  to  me  as  she  pressed  her  Angers  on  her 
forehead  in  bewilderment — 

"  There  is  a  God,  as  I  have  found  you.  If  you 
had  not  been  at  home  I  think  I  should  have  lost 
my  reason.  Give  me  your  hand,  I  want  to  clasp 
it,  to  feel  that  I  am  not  dreaming,  that  you  are 
there,  a  friend.     My  sufferings  are  so  great." 

"  Yes,  a  friend,"  I  replied,  trying  to  calm  her. 


Î76  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

"  a  true  friend  ready  to  help  you,  to  listen  to  you, 
to  advise  you,  and  to  prevent  you,  too,  from  giving 
way  to  your  fancies." 

"  Do  not  speak  like  that,"  she  interrupted,  freeing 
her  hand  as  she  drew  back  with  almost  hateful 
aversion,  "  or  else  I  shall  think  you  are  in  the  plot  to 
lie  to  me.  No.  This  man  deceives  you  as  he  has 
me.  You  beheve  in  him  as  I  have  done.  He  would 
be  ashamed  to  show  himself  in  his  true  colours 
before  the  honourable  man  you  are.  Listen." 
She  seized  my  arai  again  and  came  so  near  me  that 
I  could  feel  the  feverish  heat  of  her  rapid  breath. 
"  Do  you  know  where  I,  Camille  Favier,  have  come 
from  ;  I,  the  recognized  mistress  of  Jacques  ?  I 
have  come  from  a  chamber  where  that  wretch, 
Madam  de  Bonnivet,  has  given  herself  to  him, 
where  the  bed  is  stiU  in  disorder  and  warm  from 
their  two  bodies.  Oh,  what  a  hideous  thing  it 
is  !  " 

"  Impossible  !  "  I  munnured,  overwhelmed  with 
fright  at  the  words  I  had  just  hstened  to  and  the 
tone  in  which  they  were  spoken.  "  You  have  been 
the  dupe  of  an  anonymous  letter  or  a  fancied 
resemblance." 

"  Listen  again,"  she  went  on  almost  tragically, 
and  her  fingers  bit  into  my  flesh,  so  furious  was 
their  grasp.  "  For  a  week  I  have  had  no  doubt  as 
to  the  relations  between  Jacques  and  this  woman. 
Suddenly  he  had  become  tender  to  me  with  that 
tenderness  which  a  mistress  never  mistakes.  He 
was  humouring  me.  There  was  a  certain  expres- 
sion in  his  eyes  when  he  looked  at  me.     I  would 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  t;; 

have  liked  to  snatch  away  that  look  to  read  what 
was  behind  it.  Then  I  found  around  his  eyes  that 
voluptuous  hollow  I  knew  in  him  too  well.  I  recog- 
nized in  his  whole  being  that  exhausted  languor 
which  he  used  to  have  in  the  days  gone  by  when  we 
loved  passionately,  and  he  avoided  our  appoint- 
ments. He  always  had  an  excuse  to  change  and 
postpone  them.  You  see,  I  am  talking  to  you  as  I 
feel.  It  is  brutal,  but  what  I  am  telling  you  is 
true,  as  I  have  always  told  the  truth  to  him  and 
to  you.  It  was  I,  you  understand,  who  asked  for 
these  appointments,  I  who  did  the  hunting,  while 
he  refused  me  and  escaped  from  me.  Is  any  other 
proof  of  a  lover's  deception  necessary  ?  But  this 
week  I  began  again  to  doubt.  I  received  a  visit 
from  this  woman's  husband.  She  had  the  auda- 
city to  send  him  to  me  !  He  came  with  Senneterre 
to  ask  me  to  act  at  a  grand  affair  they  are  having 
next  Monday." 

"  I  have  an  invitation  to  it,"  I  interrupted, 
suddenly  recollecting  that  I  had  received  an 
invitation  for  it.  "I  was  astonished  at  it, 
but  I  understand  now.  It  was  an  account  of 
you." 

"  Ah,  weU  !  you  will  not  see  me  there,"  she 
replied  in  a  tone  which  froze  my  heart,  it  was  so 
ferocious,  "  and  I  have  an  idea  that  this  function 
wiU  not  take  place."  Then  with  rising  anger  she 
said:  "  Now,  see  how  innocent  I  am  still  !  When 
the  fool  of  a  husband  asked  me  that,  and  I  said 
'  yes,'  seeing  that  Jacques  displayed  no  emotion, 
it  seemed  to  me  impossible  that  this  woman  could 


178  THE   BLUE  DUCHESS 

really  be  his  mistress.  I  did  not  believe  it  of  her, 
nor  did  I  believe  that  he  was  her  lover.  I  knew 
she  was  a  famous  coquette,  and  you  remember  how 
I  judged  him  ?  But  this  was  on  her  part  such 
insolent  audacity,  and  on  his  shameful  cowardice  ! 
No.  Had  you  come  yourself,  even  this  morning,  to 
tell  me  that  she  was  his  mistress,  I  should  not  have 
believed  it." 

She  was  so  agonized  at  what  she  was  preparing 
to  tell  that  she  had  to  stop  again.  Her  hands, 
which  had  let  go  of  me  again,  trembled  and  her 
eyes  closed  from  her  excessive  suffering. 

"  And  now  ?"  I  said  to  her. 

"  Now  ?  "  She  burst  into  a  nervous  laugh. 
"  Now  I  know  of  what  they  are  capable,  he  in 
particular.  She  is  a  woman  of  the  world  who  has 
lovers.  But  for  him  to  have  done  what  he  has 
done  !  Oh,  the  wretch,  the  wicked  monster  !  1 
am  going  mad  as  I  talk  to  you.  But  listen,  Usten," 
she  repeated  in  a  frenzy,  as  if  she  feared  I  should 
interrupt  her  story.  "  To-day  at  two  o'clock 
there  was  to  have  been  a  rehearsal  of  the  new- 
comedy  by  Dorsenne  at  the  theatre.  He  is  altering 
an  act  and  the  rehearsal  was  countermanded. 
I  did  not  hear  of  it  till  I  got  to  the  theatre.  For 
that  reason  I  found  myself  about  two  o'clock  in  the 
Rue  de  la  Chausée  d'Antin  with  the  afternoon 
before  me.  I  had  one  or  two  calls  to  make  in  the 
neighbourhood.  I  started,  and  then  some  clumsy 
person  trod  on  my  skirt,  tearing  a  flounce  almost 
off.  Look."  She  showed  me  that  a  large  piece 
of  the  bottom  of  her  skirt  was  torn.     It  happened 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  179 

at  the  top  of  the  Rue  de  CHchy  near  the  Rue 
Nouvelle." 

She  had  looked  at  me  as  she  pronounced  and 
emphasized  these  last  few  words,  as  if  they  ought 
to  awaken  in  me  an  association  of  ideas.  She 
saw  that  I  made  no  sign.  A  look  of  astonishment 
passed  over  her  face  and  she  continued — 

"  Does  that  name  tell  you  nothing  ?  I  thought 
that  Jacques,  who  confides  in  you,  would  have  told 
you  that  as  well.  Well  " — she  dropped  her  voice 
still  lower,  "  that  is  where  we  have  our  place  of 
meeting.  When  he  became  my  lover,  I  should  so 
much  have  Hked  to  have  belonged  to  him  at  his  own 
place,  among  the  objects  in  the  midst  of  which  he 
lived,  so  that  at  every  minute,  every  second,  these 
mute  witnesses  of  our  happiness  would  recall  me 
to  his  memory  !  He  did  not  wish  it  to  be  so.  I 
understand  the  reason  to-day  ;  he  was  already 
thinking  of  the  rupture.  At  that  time  I  believed 
everything  he  told  me,  and  did  everything  he 
asked  me  to  do.  He  assured  me  that  the  rooms 
in  the  Rue  Nouville  had  been  fitted  up  by  him  for 
me  alone,  and  that  he  had  put  there  the  old  furni- 
ture from  the  room  in  which  he  wrote  his  early 
books  :  the  room  he  lived  in  before  moving  to  the 
Place  Delaborde.  How  stupid  I  was  !  How 
stupid  I  was  !  But  it  is  abominable  to  lie  to  a 
poor  girl  w*ho  has  only  her  heart,  who  surrenders 
it  entirely  as  well  as  her  person  and  would  despise 
herself  for  any  distrust  as  if  it  were  a  crime  !  Ah  ! 
it  is  very  easy  to  deceive  any  one  who  surrenders 
herself  like  that."  _  --      -       ^^-  - 


e8o  the  blue  duchess 

"  But  are  you  sure  he  deceived  you  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Am  I  sure  of  it  ?     You  too she  replied  in 

tones  of  passionate  irony.  "  Besides,  I  defy  you 
to  defend  him  when  you  hear  the  whole  story. 
I  was,  as  I  have  just  told  you,  near  the  Rue  Nou- 
velle with  my  dress  torn.  I  must  add,  too,  that 
in  my  foolishness  I  had  left  aU  sorts  of  little  things 
belonging  to  me  in  the  rooms  there,  even  needles 
and  silk.  It  had  been  one  of  my  dreams,  too,  that 
this  place  might  become  a  beloved  refuge  for  both  of 
us,  where  Jacques  would  work  at  some  beautiful 
love-drama,  written  near  me  and  for  me,  while  I 
should  be  there  to  employ  myself — as  his  wife  ! 
It  occurred  to  me  to  go  there  and  mend  my  torn 
flounce.  I  want  you  to  believe  me  when  I  swear 
to  you  that  there  was  no  idea  of  spying  mixed  up 
in  my  plan." 

"  I  know  it,"  I  replied  to  her,  and  to  spare  her  the 
details  of  a  confidence  which  I  saw  caused  her 
great  physical  suffering,  I  asked  her  :  "  And  you 
found  the  room  in  disorder  as  you  told  me  ?  " 

"  It  was  more  terrible,"  she  said,  and  then  had  to 
remain  silent  for  a  second  to  gain  strength  to 
continue  :  "  The  way  in  which  these  apartments 
had  been  selected  ought  long  ago  to  have  told  me 
that  Jacques  used  them  for  others  as  weU  as  me. 
They  are  in  a  large  double  house,  the  rooms  face 
the  street  and  are  far  enough  from  the  porter's 
lodge  for  any  one  to  ascend  the  staircase  without 
being  seen.  What  would  be  the  use  of  all  these 
precautions  if  I  were  the  only  person  to  go  there  ? 
Am  I  not  free  ?      Am  I  afraid  of  any  one  but 


\ 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  i8i 

mother  seeing  me  enter  ?     Then   there  was    the 
porter's  glances,   his    indefinable    expression    of 
politeness  and  irony,  and  his  servility  to  Jacques, 
all  of  which  would  have  proved  to  any  one  else 
that  the  rooms  had  been  for  years  in  his  occupation. 
I  can  see  it  so  clearly  while  I  am  talking  to  you  ! 
I  cannot  realize  how  I  was  so  long  deceived  !     But 
I  am  losing  myself,  ideas  keep  rushing  into  my 
head.     I  had  got  as  far  as  the  Rue  Nouvelle  with 
my    dress    torn.     I  had    no  key.     Jacques   had 
never   given  it  to    me  in  spite  of  my    requests. 
What  another  sign,  too!     I  knew  that  the  porter 
kept  one  key  so  that  he  and  his  wife  might  look 
after   the  place.      An  inside   bolt  allowed,  when 
once  a  person  was  inside,  of  the  door  being  fas- 
tened  against   any   intruder,   so   that   very  often 
Jacques  did  not  trouble  to  take  the  second  key 
which  was  kept  in  one  of  his  drawers,  and  you 
may    imagine  I  went  to    the    porter's   lodge  as 
little  as  possible.     I   preferred,  when   I    followed 
Jacques  there,  to  go  straight  upstairs  and  ring. 
Without  these  details  what  happened  to  me  would 
be  unintelligible  to  you  though  it  is  so  simple. 
This  time  I  went  to  the  lodge  for  the  key.     There 
was  no  one  there.     The  porter  and  his  wife  were 
probably  busy  elsewhere,  and  the  last  person  who 
went  out  had  neglected  to  shut  the  door.     I  saw 
our  key  in  its  usual  place  and  took  it  without  the 
least  scruple,  and  making  as  I  did  so  a  little  motion 
of  joy  at  avoiding  the  porter.     I  must  repeat — I 
swear  it  to  you — that  I  was  absolutely  ignorant  of 
the  incident  Ï  was  about  to  encounter.     I  entered 


i82  THE  RT.UE  DXTHESS 

the  rooms  with  a  certain  feehng  of  melancholy, 
as  you  may  imagine  !  It  was  a  fortnight  since  I 
had  been  there  with  Jacques.  The  windows 
were  closed.  The  little  drawing-room  with  its 
tasteful  tapestry  and  furniture  was  still  the  same, 
and  so  was  the  bedroom  with  its  red  furniture. 
I  found  out,  on  looking  in  a  drawer  where  I  had  put 
my  work-basket  with  my  odds  and  ends,  that  it 
was  no  longer  there,  and  I  was  somewhat  aston- 
ished. But  there  was  still  a  dressing-room  and  a 
little  room  which  we  sometimes  used  as  a  dining- 
room.  I  thought  that  perhaps  the  porter,  when 
cleaning,  had  moved  the  things  into  the  little  room 
and  forgotten  to  replace  them.  I  looked  there, 
found  the  work-basket,  and  began  to  mend  my 
skirt.  I  took  it  off  to  do  it  more  quickly.  Sud- 
denly I  seemed  to  hear  the  opening  of  doors.  I  had 
taken  the  key  out  of  the  lock  without  shooting  the 
bolt.  My  first  thought  was  that  Jacques  was  the 
unexpected  visitor.  Had  he  not  told  me,  and  I 
had  beheved  him,  as  usual,  that  he  sometimes 
came  there  to  work  out  of  remembrance  of  me  and 
to  assure  himself  more  sohtude  ?  I  had  not  time 
to  give  myself  up  to  the  sweet  emotion  this  thought 
awakened  in  my  heart.  I  could  recognize  two 
voices,  his  and  the  other  woman's." 

"  The  voice  of  Madam  de  Bonnivet  ?"  I  asked 
as  she  remained  silent  after  the  last  few  words, 
which  were  hardly  audible.  I  was  as  much 
moved  by  her  story  as  she  was  herself.  She  bent 
her  head  to  signify  "  yes  "  and  maintained  her 
silence,  so  I  dare  not  insist.     The  tragedy  of  the 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  183 

situation,  the  facts  of  which  she  had  placed  before 
me  so  simply,  crushed  me.     She  went  on — 

"  I  cannot  describe  to  you  what  passed  in  me 
when  I  heard  this  woman,  who,  thinking  herself 
alone  with  her  lover,  was  laughing  loudly  and 
talking  famiharly  to  him.  I  felt  a  sharp  pain,  as 
if  the  keen  point  of  a  knife  had  wounded  me  in 
the  inmost  part  of  my  being,  and  I  began  to  tremble 
in  the  whole  of  my  body  on  the  chair  upon  which 
I  was  sitting.  But  even  now  at  the  thought,  look 
at  my  hands  !  I  desired  to  get  up,  to  go  to  them, 
and  to  drive  them  away,  but  I  could  not.  I  could 
not  even  cry  out.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  my  hfe 
suddenly  stood  still  in  me.  I  heard  and  hstened. 
It  was  a  pain  greater  than  death,  and  I  really 
thought  I  should  die  where  I  sat  !  But  here  I  am, 
and  do  you  know  the  reason  ?  In  that  small  room 
where  I  stayed  like  that  without  moving,  after 
the  first  moment  of  fearful  pain  had  passed,  I  was 
overcome  by  disgust,  by  inexpressible  repugnance 
and  horror  which  was  absolutely  nauseating. 
Without  a  doubt  if  I  had  distinctly  heard  the  words 
of  this  man  and  woman  the  need  of  immediate 
vengeance  would  have  been  too  strong  for  me  ; 
but  the  indistinct,  confused  murmur,  consisting  of 
words  I  could  hear  and  words  I  could  not  hear, 
combined  with  the  picture  of  what  I  guessed  was 
taking  place  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall,  besides 
the  unutterable  suffering  it  caused  me,  gave  me  an 
impression  of  something  very  dirty,  very  ignoble, 
very  disgusting,  and  very  abject.  There  was  one 
phrase   in   particular,    and   such   a   phrase   which 


l84  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

made  me  feel  that  I  despised  Jacques  more  than  I 
loved  him,  and  at  the  same  time — how  strange  the 
heart  is  ! — I  could  only  grasp  the  idea  that  if  I 
entered  the  room  he  would  think  that  I  came  there 
to  spy  upon  him.  That  pride  in  my  feelings  ended 
by  dominating  everything  else.  I  remained  mo- 
tionless in  this  smaU  room  for  perhaps  an  hour. 
Then  they  departed  and  I  went  into  the  room 
they  had  just  left.  The  bed  was  in  disorder,  but 
the  pillows  and  bedclothes  were  the  same.  Ah," 
she  groaned,  uttering  a  cry  which  rent  my  heart, 
and  pressing  her  fingers  into  her  eyes  as  if  to  crush 
the  eyeballs  and  with  them  a  horrible  vision  of 
other  infamous  details  which  she  would  not,  could 
not  mention  then  she  cried  :  "  Save  me  from  my- 
self, Vincent.  My  friend,  my  only  friend,  do  not 
leave  me  ;  I  beUeve  my  head  will  burst  and  I  shall 
go  mad  !     Oh,  that  bed  !    that  bed  !    our  bed  !  " 

She  got  up  as  she  said  these  words,  rushed  to- 
wards me  and  buried  her  head  against  my  shoulder, 
seizing  me  with  her  hands  in  an  agony  of  supreme 
grief.  Her  face  contracted  and  turned  up  in  a 
spasm  of  agony,  and  I  had  only  just  time  to  catch 
her.     She  fell  unconscious  into  my  arms. 

Without  doubt  this  unconsciousness  saved  her, 
with  the  help  of  the  torrent  of  tears  which  she  shed 
when  she  recovered  her  senses.  1  saw  her  re- 
awaken to  life  and  realize  her  misery.  Her  con- 
fidences and  the  period  of  unconsciousness  which 
followed  them  had  moved  me  so  deeply  that  I 
could  find  nothing  to  say  except  those  common- 
place words  used  to  comfort  a  suffering  person  ; 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  185 

and  there  is  such  difficulty  in  making  use  even  of 
those  when  one  takes  into  account  the  legitimate 
reasons  the  person  has  for  suffering.  Camille  did 
not  allow  me  to  exhaust  myself  for  long  in  these 
useless  consolations. 

"  I  know  that  you  love  me,"  she  said  with  an 
attempt  at  a  broken-hearted  smile,  which  even  noA\ 
when  I  think  of  it  makes  me  ill,  "  and  I  know,  too, 
that  you  sincerely  pity  me.  But  you  must  let  me 
weep,  you  know.  With  these  tears  it  seems  to  me 
that  my  folly  departs.  I  would  like  only  one 
promise  from  you,  a  real  man's  promise,  5^our 
word  of  honour  that  you  say  '  j^es  '  to  the  request 
I  am  going  to  make  you." 

"  You  believe  in  my  friendship,"  I  said  to  her. 
"  You  know  that  I  will  obey  all  j^our  designs, 
whatever  they  may  be." 

"  That  is  not  sufficient,  "  she  said  at  my  evasive 
reply,  behind  which,  seeing  her  so  excited,  I  had 
sheltered  a  last  remnant  of  prudence.  What  was 
she  going  to  ask  me  ?  And  she  insisted  :  "  It  is 
your  word  of  honour  I  want." 

"  You  have  it,"  I  told  her,  overcome  by  the  sad 
supphcation  in  her  dear  blue  eyes  from  which  the 
tears  still  flowed. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said  as  she  pressed  my  hand, 
and  she  added  :  "I  want  to  be  sure  that  you  will 
not  say  anything  to  Jacques  of  what  I  have  told 
you  ?  " 

"  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour,"  I  replied;  "  but 
you  yourself  will  not  be  able  to  tell  him." 

"  I  ?"  she  repUed, shaking  her  head  with  grim 


l86  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

pride.  "  I  shall  tell  him  nothing.  I  do  not  wish 
him  to  suspect  me  of  sp)nng  upon  him.  I  will 
quarrel  with  him  without  giving  a  reason.  I  shall 
have  courage  against  my  love  now  from  disgust. 
I  shall  only  have  to  recall  what  I  have  seen  and 
heard." 

After  her  departure  my  heart-broken  pity  for 
her  changed  into  increasing  uneasiness.  Was  I 
to  keep  my  word  to  the  poor  girl  and  not  warn 
Molan  ?  I  knew  too  well  the  value  of  lovers'  oaths 
to  believe  that,  after  assisting  in  concealment  at 
this  rendezvous  between  her'  lover  and  her  rival, 
she  would  keep  to  her  resolution  of  a  silent  rupture 
without  vengeance.  It  is  in  vain  for  a  woman  to 
try  and  bear  in  her  heart  that  sentimental  pride, 
of  which  she  had  given  proof  in  a  very  unlikely 
fashion  by  remaining  in  her  hiding-place  ;  she  is 
still  a  woman,  and  sooner  or  later  the  pressure  of 
her  instinct  will  overcome  her  reason  and  dignity. 
If  a  fresh  attack  of  grief  overwhelmed  the  outraged 
mistress,  would  she  not,  when  a  prey  to  the  delirium 
of  jealousy,  write  the  truth  to  her  rival's  husband  ? 
The  look  came  to  my  mind  which  Bonnivet  had 
given  at  his  table  the  woman  who  bore  his  name 
and  who  was  now  the  mistress  of  Jacques.  How 
was  it  that  this  coquette,  so  obviou^y  gaunt,  so 
profoundly  ironical,  and  so  little  impulsive,  had 
given  herself  thus  ? 

Curiosity  to  learn  the  details  of  this  culpable 
adventure  did  not  enter  into  the  temptation  which 
seized  me  directly  Camille  had  gone  to  go  and  see 
my  friend.     At  least  I  could  warn  him  against 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  187 

danger  and  a  surprise  likely  to  be  tragic.  I,  how- 
ever, resisted  this  desire,  which  was  almost  a  need, 
of  warning  him  through  a  point  of  honour  which 
I  have  never  yet  failed  to  keep.  That  is  the  result 
of  being  the  son  of  a  Puritan.  My  father's  words 
always  came  into  my  mind  at  times  like  this  : 
' '  A  promise  is  not  to  be  interpreted  but  to  be  kept." 
I  have  this  principle  in  my  blood  and  marrow.  I 
cannot  recall  circumstances  when  to  keep  a  promise 
has  cost  me  such  an  effort. 

To  remain  faithful  to  my  oath,  I  forbade  myself 
going  to  see  Jacques.  He  came  to  see  me  on  the 
day  following  the  day  I  had  received  his  mistress' 
confidences  which  were  so  hard  for  me  to  keep. 
He  had  the  previous  evening  been  to  the  theatre 
to  see  Camille.  He  had  not  been  abk  to  talk  to 
her  because  of  her  mother's  presence.  This  pres- 
ence, which  was  obviously  at  the  daughter's  desire, 
had  astonished  him  a  little  ;  then  he  thought  he 
noticed  in  the  latter's  eyes  and  also  in  her  acting 
something  strange,  a  sort  of  unhealthy  excitement. 
As  often  happens  when  a  person  has  not  a  clear 
conscience,  this  something  had  sufficed  to  make  him 
uneasy.  He  therefore,  had  come  to  the  studio 
with  the  vague  hope  of  meeting  Camille  and  the 
certain  object  of  making  me  talk.  His  epigrams 
upon  my  part  as  eternal  contidant  were  well  justi- 
fied. It  is  true  that  a  very  simple  pretext  offered 
an  explanation  of  his  visit. 

"  I  have  had  an  invitation  sent  you  for  Madam 
de  Bonnivet's  evening  party,"  he  stated  after  our 
greetings  ;    "  you  will  go,  won't  you  ?    Shall  we 


i88  THE   BLUE  DUCHESS 

dine  together  that  evening  ?   Has  Camille  told  you 
that  she  is  acting  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  and  I  thought  the  idea  was 
ill  somewhat  doubtful  taste." 

"  It  was  not  my  idea,"  he  said  with  a  laugh  ; 
"  I  am  a  Httle  afraid  of  complications,  and  I  avoid 
useless  ones  as  much  as  possible.  There  are  already 
too  many  unavoidable  ones.  Senneterre  and 
Bonnivet  arranged  the  party,  one  advising  the 
other.  They  want  to  know  the  truth  of  my  court- 
ing Queen  Anne.  Seeing  that  Camille  is  mj^  mis- 
tress, they  think  that  if  Madam  de  Bonnivet  is 
really  her  rival,  the  two  women  must  detest  each 
other.  You  follow  their  reasoning  ?  In  that  case 
Madam  de  Bonnivet  would  refuse  to  have  Camille 
there  and  Camille  would  refuse  to  go.  I  should  also 
decUne  the  invitation  to  avoid  any  meeting  between 
the  two  women.  But  I  accepted  and  so  did  Camille. 
Madam  de  Bonnivet  placed  no  obstacle  in  the  way. 
I  should  hke  you  to  have  seen  the  stupor,  and 
then  the  joy,  first  of  Senneterre  and  then  of  Bonni- 
vet. Ah  !  they  are  observers,  analysts,  and  psy- 
chologists, like  Larcher  or  Dorsenne.  After  this 
irony  he  added  :  "I  have  not  seen  Camille  for 
some  days.     How  is  the  portrait  progressing  ?  " 

"  You  can  judge  for  yourself,"  I  hastened  to 
say,  only  too  happy  to  seize  this  pretext  to  avoid  his 
questions,  and  I  turned  to  show  him  the  taU  canvas 
upon  which  was  drawn  the  slender  silhouette  of 
the  Blue  Duchess  offering  her  flower — offering  her 
flower  to  him  who  hardly  looked  at  her.  Has  he 
ever  given  five  minutes'  attention  to  the  artistic 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  189 

efforts  of  a  comrade  ?  That  day  at  least  he  had 
as  an  excuse  his  Uttle  inquiry  to  make,  and  thuf 
his  critical  situation  between  his  two  mistresses 
rendered  urgent.  I  was  not  offended  when  he 
continued,  without  the  least  gleam  of  interest 
Hghting  up  the  glance,  almost  a  wandering  one, 
which  he  fixed  upon  the  picture. 

"  Is  she  still  jealous  of  Madam  de  Bonnivet  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  We  have  hardly  mentioned  that  subject," 
I  rephed  with  a  blush  at  my  impudent  untruth. 

"  Well,  so  much  the  better,"  he  went  on  without 
insisting.  "  She  would  choose  her  time  very  badly. 
I  must  tell  you  that  Queen  Anne  and  I  have  recog- 
nized that  we  have  made  a  misdeal  and  have  given 
up  the  game.  Yes,  we  are  in  a  state  of  armed  peace. 
We  have  measured  our  weapons  and  concluded  an 
armistice.  It  was  written  that  I  should  not  seduce 
her  and  that  she  should  not  seduce  me.  We  are 
good  friends  now,  and  I  think  we  shaU  remain  so. 
I  like  it  better  that  way,  it  is  more  comfortable." 

He  looked  at  me,  as  he  delivered  this  speech 
in  a  hesitating  w^ay,  with  a  keen  perspicacity 
before  which  I  did  not  flinch.  If  my  face  expressed 
astonishment,  it  was  at  his  assurance  in  the 
comedy.  He  no  doubt  attributed  it  to  my  surprise 
at  his  fresh  relations  with  her  whom  he  continued 
to  caU  Queen  Anne,  and  whom  I  knew  deserved  to 
be  brutally  called  Anne  the  Courtesan.  I  realize  to- 
day that  in  observing  this  strange  discretion  about 
his  triumph  he  did  not  yield  to  a  simple  prudent 
calculation.     Without    a  doubt  he    was    pmdent, 


tgo  THE  BLUE  DUCHESf; 

but  he  also  counted  on  my  thinking  him  [sincere,  and 
putting  more  energy  into  destroying  my  model's 
ever-recurring  suspicions.  There  was,  too,  in  this 
discretion  succeeding  the  cynicism  of  his  former 
confidences  a  singular  turn  in  his  self-conceit, 
which  is  more  obvious  now  at  a  distance  of  time. 
I  have  often  noticed  in  the  person  whom  women 
call  in  their  slang  "  the  man  who  talks  ''  this 
anomaly.  It  is  quite  apparent.  He  tells  you  one 
by  one,  embellishing  them  where  necessary,  the 
least  important  preUminaries  of  an  adventure 
with  a  person  whose  most  trifling  imprudence 
ought  to  be  sacred  to  him.  Then  when  he  sees 
that  you  are  qiute  convinced  that  he  is  going  to 
become  that  woman's  lover,  he  defends  himself 
at  the  last  stage  with  a  defence  which  compromises 
her  as  much  as  a  positive  avowal.  This  final 
silence  prevents  him  from  judging  himself  too 
severely.  The  same  vanity  which  made  him  talk- 
ative before  makes  him  silent  afterwards.  Vanity 
or  remorse,  calculation  or  a  last  remnant  of  honour, 
whatever  was  the  cause  of  this  sudden  interrup- 
tion in  Jacques'  confidences,  it  is  certain  that  on 
this  occasion  he  did  not  depart  from  his  correct 
attitude  of  discretion.  It  made  my  discretion 
seem  the  less  meritorious.  But  suddenly  events 
were  precipitated  with  the  tnghtful  rapidity  of 
catastrophies  in  which  discussions  and  half-con- 
fidences have  no  place.  I  should  hke  to  narrate 
this  dénouement,  not  such  as  I  saw  it,  but  such  as 
it  was  told  to  me.  God!  if  I  could  reproduce  for  this 
story  the  natural  and  \dolent  eloquence  with  which 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  iqi 

little  Favier  used  to  retrace  these  tragic  scenes, 
this  clumsy  narrative  would  live  and  become  tinted 
with  passion's  warm  tinge.  Why  did  I  not  at 
once  put  it  on  paper  in  the  form  of  notes,  these 
burning  avowals  which  so  long  pursued  me  ? 


CHAPTER    VIII 

THERE  is  always  a  silent  corner  in  a  woman's 
most  sincere  confession.  There  was  one 
in  Camille's.  In  telling  me,  with  the  pauses  of 
jealousy  maddened  by  its  certainty,  of  the  dramatic 
discovery  at  the  rooms  in  the  Rue  Nouvelle  she  had 
not  revealed  the  whole  truth  to  me.  She  had  al- 
ready resolved  on  an  audacious  plan  for  vengeance 
even  at  the  time  she  affirmed  that  she  would  not 
revenge  herself.  She  confessed  to  me  later  that 
she  was  afraid  of  my  advice  and  reproaches. 
Among  the  phrases  audible  through  the  thin 
partition  which  separated  her  from  the  bed  where 
her  rival  gave  herself  to  their  joint  lover,  she  had 
seized  upon  a  few  words  more  important  to  her 
than  the  rest.  It  was  the  day  and  hour  of  their 
next  meeting.  This  slender  Madam  de  Bonnivet, 
in  whom  I  had  diagnosed  signs  of  the  most  im- 
movable coldness — a  detail  which  in  parenthesis 
Molan  later  on  brutaU}^  confirmed — was  like  most 
women  of  this  kind,  a  seeker  after  sensations.  At 
each  fresh  intrigue  those  depraved  women  \\'ithnut 
temperaments  persist  in  the  hope  that  this  time 
they  will  experience  that  much-desired  ecstasy  ot 
love  wluch  has  always  shunned  them. 

182 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  193 

I  have  learned  since  that  it  was  she  who,  in  spite 
of  the  danger,  or  rather  because  of  the  danger,  had 
multipUed  the  meetings  each  of  which  risked  a 
tragic  termination.  Camille  had  ascertained  the 
secret  of  the  real  relations  between  the  two  lovers 
one  Tuesday,  and  on  the  Friday,  three  days  later, 
they  were  to  meet  at  the  same  place.  Knowing 
the  exact  moment  of  the  appointment  a  mad 
resolution  took  possession  of  the  suffering  mind  of 
the  poor  Blue  Duchess  :  to  wait  for  her  rival  at 
the  door  of  the  house,  to  approach  her  as  she  got 
out  of  her  cab  and  spit  out  into  her  face  her  hatred 
and  contempt  there  on  the  pavement  in  the  street. 
At  the  thought  of  the  arrogant  Madam  de  Bonnivet 
trembhng  before  her  hke  a  thief  caught  in  the  act, 
the  outraged  actress  experienced  a  tremor  of 
satisfied  revenge.  Her  vengeance  would  be  more 
complete  still.  The  infamous  trap  into  which 
Jacques  and  Madam  de  Bonnivet  had  lured  her, 
the  abominable  invitation  to  perform  at  her  rival's 
evening  party  to  reassure  the  husband,  would  be 
of  use  to  her.  Out  of  prudence  and  with  the 
idea  of  not  compromising  herself  with  her  husband. 
Madam  de  Bonnivet  must  give  her  that  evening 
in  spite  of  everything.  She,  Camille,  would  appear 
there  !  She  would  see  the  woman  who  had  stolen 
her  lover  tremble  before  her  gaze,  the  lover  himself 
pale  with  terror  lest  she  should  make  a  scene,  and 
the  fear  of  the  guilty  couple  was  in  advance  of 
those  atrocious  pleasures  which  hatred  conjures 
up  in  the  mind. 

The  three  days  which  separated  her  from  this 

G 


104  THE  BTATE  DUCHESS 

Friday  passed  for  Camille  in  increasing  expectancy. 
I  did  not  see  her  during  that  time,  for  she  took  a 
jealous  care  in  avoiding  me,  for  fear  I  should  de- 
range her  plan.  But  she  told  me  afterwards  that 
never  since  the  beginning  of  her  liaison  with 
Jacques  had  she  felt  such  a  fever  of  impatience. 
She  passed  the  night  from  Thursday  to  Friday  like 
a  mad  woman,  and  when  she  left  the  Rue  de  la 
Barouillère  to  go  to  the  Rue  Nouvelle,  she  had 
neither  slept  nor  eaten  for  thirty-six  hours.  At 
half-past  three  she  was  on  the  pavement  in  front 
of  the  windows  of  the  rooms  walking  up  and  down 
wrapped  in  her  cloak  and  unrecognizable  through 
her  double  veil,  never  losing  sight  of  the  door 
through  which  her  rival  must  go.  There  was  at 
the  comer  of  the  Rue  de  Clichy  a  cabstand  which 
she  fixed  as  the  boundary  of  her  promenade. 
Each  time  she  passed  she  noticed  the  clock  on 
the  cabstand.  First  it  was  twenty  minutes  to  four, 
and  more  than  twenty  minutes  to  wait.  Then  it 
was  ten  minutes  to  four,  and  she  had  ten  minutes 
to  wait.  Four  o'clock  struck.  They  were  late. 
At  twenty  minutes  past  four  neither  Jacques  nor 
Madam  de  Bonnivet  had  appeared.  What  had 
happened  ? 

In  face  of  this  delay,  the  more  inexplicable  as,  in 
the  case  of  a  woman  of  position  like  the  one  for 
whom  revenge  was  watching,  her  moments  of 
leisure  are  few,  it  seemed  obi  vous  to  Camille 
that  the  lovers  had  altered  the  time  and  place 
of  the  appointment,  and  the  idea  maddened  her. 
They  had  seen  one  another  so  often  since  she  had 


The  blue  duchess  195 

listened  to  their  caresses  and  familiarity  so  close 
to  her.  Who  knows  ?  Perhaps  the  porter  had 
noticed  her  when  she  went  out  the  other  day, 
although  she  had  taken  advantage  of  a  moment 
when  he  was  absent  from  the  lodge  and  talking  in 
the  courtyard  to  replace  the  key.  Perhaps  he  had 
warned  Jacques  of  the  visit  ! 

It  was  half-past  four,  and  still  no  one  had  ap- 
peared. Camille  was  at  last  convinced  that  to 
remain  longer  watching  was  useless,  all  the  more 
since,  as  happens  at  this  time  in  a  cold  February 
day,  a  bitter  fog  had  come  down  mixed  with  sleet, 
which  made  her  shiver.  She  cast  a  desperate 
glance  at  the  impenetrable  windows  with  their 
closed  shutters  from  which  no  gleam  of  light  came, 
and  was  preparing  to  depart,  when  in  searching 
the  short  street  with  her  eyes  for  the  last  time  she 
saw  a  carriage  stop  opposite  the  cabstand  and  a 
face  look  out  of  it  which  gave  her  one  of  those 
attacks  of  terror  which  dissolve  the  forces  of  the 
body  and  soul  :  it  was  the  face  of  Pierre  de 
Bonnivet  ! 

Yes,  it  was  indeed  the  husband  of  Molan's 
mistress,  no  longer  in  his  laughable  function  as 
the  shy  and  intimidated  husband  of  a  woman  of 
the  world  who  endured  the  coquetry  of  the  woman 
who  bore  his  name,  submitting  to  it  to  profit  by  it. 
It  was  the  assassin  in  his  hiding-place,  the  assassin 
in  whom  jealousy  had  suddenly  awakened  the  primi- 
tive male,  the  murderous  brute,  and  whose  eyes, 
nostrils,  mouth  announced  his  desire  to  kill  what- 
ever happened.     He  was  there  scanning  the  street 


igo  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

with  savage  glances.  The  half  turned-up  otter- 
skin  collar  of  his  overcoat  gave  to  his  red  hair  and 
high  colour  a  more  sinister  look,  and  the  bare 
ungloved  hand  with  which  he  lifted  the  curtain  of 
the  window  to  enable  him  to  see  better  seemed 
ready  to  grasp  the  weapon  which  should  avenge 
his  honour  at  once  on  that  pavement,  without  any 
more  thought  of  the  world  and  of  scandal  than  if 
Paris  were  still  the  primeval  forest  of  3,000  years 
before,  where  prehistoric  men  fought  with  stone 
axes  for  possession  of  a  female  clad  in  skins. 

How  had  the  jealous  husband  discovered  the 
retreat  where  Queen  Anne  and  Jacques  took  shelter 
during  their  brief  intrigue  ?  Neither  Camille,  I, 
nor  Jacques  himself  have  ever  known.  An  anony- 
mous letter  had  informed  him  ;  but  by  whom  was  it 
written  ?  Molan  had  at  his  heels  a  mob  of  the 
envious  ;  Madam  de  Bonnivet  was  in  the  same  posi- 
tion, even  without  reckoning  her  more  or  less  dis- 
appointed suitors.  Perhaps  Bonnivet  had  simply 
recourse  to  the  vulgar  but  sure  method  of  espionage. 
It  is  quite  certain  that  the  porter  had  been  ques- 
tioned, and  but  for  the  fact  that  he  was  a  good 
fellow,  who  had  been  well  suppHed  v\dth  theatre 
tickets  by  his  lodger,  and  was  proud  of  the  latter's 
fame  as  an  author,  the  rooms  which  had  seen  the 
poor  Blue  Duchess  so  happy  and  so  miserable  in 
turn  without  doubt  would  have  served  as  the 
theatre  for  a  sanguinary  dénouement.  It  was 
indeed  the  desire  for  a  tragic  vengeance  which 
Camille  Favier  saw  upon  the  face,  in  the  nostrils, 
around  the  mouth,  and  in  the  eyes  of  the  man's 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  197 

face  she  had  seen  at  the  carriage  window  in  the  dim 
Hght  furnished  by  a  gas  jet  in  the  darkness,  looking 
for  a  proof  of  his  dishonour,  and  decided  upon 
immediate  vengeance.  It  is  very  hkely,  too,  that  he 
had  noticed  the  young  woman.  But  he  had  only 
met  her  once  off  the  stage,  and  the  high  collar  of 
her  coat,  a  fur  boa  wound  several  times  round 
her  neck,  a  hat  worn  over  her  eyes  and  a  double 
veil  made  Camille  into  an  indecisive  figure,  a  vague 
and  indistinctive  silhouette.  Bonnivet  without 
doubt  saw  in  her,  if  his  fixed  plan  allowed  him  to 
reason  at  all,  a  wanderer  of  the  prostitute  class 
exercising  her  miserable  trade  as  the  darkness  came 
on.     Then  he  took  no  further  notice  of  her. 

As  for  the  charming  and  noble  girl  who  was  so 
magnanimous  by  nature  that  it  seemed  a  pity  that 
she  should  have  experienced  such  depraving 
adventures,  she  had  no  sooner  recognized  Bonnivet 
than  her  first  spite,  her  furious  jealousy,  the  legiti- 
mate sorrow  of  her  wounded  passion  and  her 
appetite  for  revenge  all  combined  into  one  feehng. 
She  realized  nothing  but  the  danger  Jacques  was  in, 
and  the  necessity  of  warning  him,  not  to-morrow, 
or  that  evening,  but  at  once.  A  few  minutes 
before  she  had  made  up  her  mind  that  the  lovers 
had  postponed  their  appointment  till  another  day. 

An  idea  suddenly  pierced  her  heart  like  a  red-hot 
iron  ;  suppose  they  had  only  postponed  the 
appointment  till  five  o'clock  ?  Suppose  at  that 
moment  they  were  preparing  to  set  out  for  this 
street,  at  the  top  of  which  this  sinister  watcher 
was  waiting  ?    The  thought  that,  after  all,  that  was 


198  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

possible  at  once  transformed  itself,  as  often  happens 
when  the  imagination  works  around  the  danger  to 
a  person  beloved,  into  a  certainty.  She  could 
distinctly  see  Jacques  walking  towards  this  am- 
buscade. The  resolution  to  stop  him  at  once  with- 
out a  secondes  delay  possessed  her  with  irresistible 
force.  What  could  she  do  but  hasten  to  the  Place 
Delaborde,  where  she  had  a  last  chance  of  meeting 
Molan  ?  She  was  afraid  she  would  be  noticed  by 
Bonnivet,  or  he  might  hear  her  voice,  if  she  took 
one  of  the  cabs  on  the  rank,  so  she  hurried  along 
the  Rue  de  Clichy  like  a  mad  woman,  calling  cab 
after  cab,  and  feeHng,  when  at  last  she  took  her  seat 
in  an  empty  one,  the  horrible  attack  of  a  fresh 
h57pothesis  which  almost  made  her  faint.  Supposing 
the  two  lovers  had,  on  the  other  hand,  put  forward 
the  time  of  their  meeting  and  were  in  the  rooms, 
while  the  husband  warned  by  a  paid  or  gratuitous 
spy  was  waiting  for  them  ?  Camille  could  see 
them  once  more  in  her  imagination,  mth  the  same 
inability  to  distinguish  the  possible  from  the  real. 
Yes,  she  could  see  them,  quite  sure  of  their  privacy, 
taking  advantage  of  the  gathering  darkness  to 
emerge  arm  in  arm,  and  she  could  see  Bonnivet 
rush  and  then  .  .  .  This  unknown  conclusion 
varied  between  sudden  miurder  and  a  terrible  duel. 
The  unfortunate  creature  had  hardly  conceived 
this  second  hypothesis,  when  a  tremor  shook  her 
to  her  very  marrow.  Her  cab  had  set  off  at  a  fast 
trot  in  the  direction  of  the  Place  Delaborde.  What 
could  she  do  then  ?  In  these  instants  when  not 
only  seconds,  but  halves  and  quarters  of  a  second 


I 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  iqç 

are  counted,  does  real  sentiment  possess  a  myster- 
ious double  sight  which  decides  persons  with  more 
certainty  than  any  calculation  or  reasoning  could 
do  ?  Or  are  there,  as  Jacques  Molan  loved  to  say, 
destinies  protected  by  singular  favour  of  circum- 
stance, which  have  constantly  good  luck,  just  as 
others  constantly  have  bad  luck  ?  Still  Camille, 
between  two  possibilities,  chose  by  instinct  that 
which  turned  out  to  be  the  true  one. 

At  the  precise  moment  that  the  cab  turned  into 
the  Place  de  la  Trinité  she  directed  the  driver  to 
turn  back  to  the  Rue  Nouvelle.  Why  ?  She  could 
not  have  told.  She  stopped  the  cab  and  paid  her 
fare  at  the  top  of  this  street.  Her  plan  was  made 
and  she  put  it  into  execution  with  that  courage- 
ous decision  which  danger  sometimes  inspires  in 
souls  like  hers,  passive  on  their  own  behalf,  but 
all  flame  and  energy  in  defence  of  their  love.  She 
could  see  that  Bonnivet's  carriage  was  stiU  in  the 
same  place.  Her  umbrella  up  to  protect  her  from 
the  sleet  was  sure  to  hide  her  face  as  she  walked 
bravely  along  past  the  carriage  and  reached  the 
house,  the  door  of  which  the  jealous  husband  was 
watching.  Her  doubts  were  removed,  for  a 
stream  of  Hght  through  the  cracks  of  the  shutters 
denoted  some  one's  presence  in  the  rooms.  She 
went  in  without  hesitation  and  walked  straight 
to  the  porter,  who  saluted  her  in  an  embarrassed 
way. 

"  I  can  assure  you,  mademoiselle,  that  M.  Molan 
is  not  here,"  he  rephed  when  she  insisted,  after  his 
first  denial. 


200  THE  RTJJE  DITCHESS 

"  I  tell  you  he  is  here  with  a  lady,"  she  rephed. 
"  I  saw  the  light  through  the  windows."  Then 
sharply  with  the  inexpressible  authority  which 
emanates  from  a  person  really  in  despair  she  said  : 
"  Wretch,  you  will  repent  for  the  rest  of  your  life 
of  not  answering  me  frankly  now.  Stop,"  she 
added,  taking  the  astonished  porter's  arm  and 
puUing  him  out  of  the  lodge.  "  Look  in  that 
carriage  at  the  corner  of  the  street  on  the  right  and 
take  care  you  are  not  seen.  You  will  see  some  one 
watching  the  house.  He  is  the  woman's  husband. 
If  you  want  blood  here  directly  when  she  leaves, 
all  you  have  to  do  is  to  prevent  me  going  up  to 
warn  them.  Good  God,  what  are  you  afraid  of  ? 
Search  me  if  you  want  to  make  sure  I  have  no 
weapon  and  would  not  harm  them.  My  lover  de- 
ceives me,  I  know,  but  I  love  him  ;  do  you  hear  ? 
I  love  him,  and  I  wish  to  save  him.  Cannot  you 
see  that  I  am  not  lying  to  you  ?  " 

Dominated  by  a  will  stretched  to  its  uttermost, 
the  man  allowed  himself  to  be  pulled  to  the  door. 
Luck,  that  blind  and  inexplicable  chance  which  is 
our  salvation  and  destruction  in  similar  crises, 
sometimes  by  the  most  insignificant  of  coincidences, 
that  luck  whose  constant  favour  to  the  audacious 
Jacques  I  mentioned,  willed  that  at  the  moment 
when  the  porter  looked  towards  the  carriage 
Bonnivet  leaned  out  a  little.  The  man  turned  to 
Camille  Favier  with  an  agitated  look. 

"  I  can  see  him,"  he  cried  ;  "  it  is  the  gentleman 
who  the  day  before  yesterday  asked  me  some  ques- 
tions about  the  occupants  of  the  bouse.     He  asked 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  201 

me  if  a  M.  Molan  lived  here,  and  when  I  rephed 
'  No,'  according  to  orders,  he  took  a  pocket- 
book  from  his  pocket.  '  What  do  j^ou  take  me 
for  ?  '  I  asked  him.  I  ought  to  have  given  the 
rascal  a  good  hiding.  Wait  while  I  go  and  ask  him 
if  he  has  authorityfrom  the  pohce  to  watch  houses.  " 

"  He  will  answer  you  that  the  street  is  common 
property,  which  is  quite  true,"  said  Camille,  whose 
coolness  had  returned  with  the  danger.  Was  it 
the  inspiration  of  love  ?  Was  it  a  vague  remem- 
brance of  the  usual  happenings  on  the  stage  ? 
For  our  profession  acts  in  us  like  automatic 
mechanism  in  the  confusion  of  necessity.  A  plan 
formed  itself  in  her  imagination  in  which  the 
honest  porter  would  take  a  part,  she  knew,  for 
Molan  knew  the  way  to  make  himself  liked.  "  You 
will  not  prevent  that  man  from  staying  there," 
she  went  on,  "  you  will  only  make  him  think  there 
is  something  it  is  necessary  to  hide.  He  will  make 
no  mistake  as  to  what  that  something  is.  Before 
coming  here  he  must  have  received  positive  infor- 
mation. You  want  to  help  me  to  save  your  master, 
don't  you  ?     Obey  me." 

"  You  are  right,  mademoiselle,"  the  porter 
answered,  changing  his  tone  ;  "  if  I  go  and  make 
a  scene  with  him  he  will  understand,  and  if  it  is  his 
wife,  he  has  the  right  not  to  want  to  be  what  he  is. 
I  meant  to  have  warned  M.  Jacques  when  he  went 
upstairs  that  I  had  been  questioned,  but  he  came 
with  that  lady." 

"  I  will  warn  him,"  Camille  said,  "  I  undertake  to 
do  so..    Now  go  and  caU  a  cab,  but  do  not  bring  it 


202  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

into  the  courtyard,  and  leave  me  to  act.  I  swear 
I  will  save  him." 

She  ran  upstairs  while  the  porter  called  a  cab  as 
she  had  ordered  him.  The  simple  object,  if  there 
must  be  a  drama,  of  doing  everything  to  prevent 
it  taking  place  in  his  house,  had  made  him  as  docile 
as  if  Camille  had  been  the  owner  of  the  house,  that 
incarnation  of  omnipotence  to  the  Paris  porter. 
When  the  plucky  girl  reached  the  landing  before 
that  door  she  had  opened  so  many  times  with 
such  sweet  emotion,  she  had,  in  spite  of  the  immi- 
nent danger,  a  moment's  weakness.  The  woman 
in  her  in  a  momentary  flash  revolted  against  the 
devotion  love  had  suggested  in  such  a  rapid,  almost 
animal,  way,  just  as  she  would  have  jumped  into 
the  water  to  save  Jacques  if  she  had  seen  him 
drowning.  Alas  !  she  was  not  saving  him  alone  ! 
The  image  of  her  rival  rose  in  front  of  her  with  that 
almost  unbearable  clearness  of  vision  which 
accompanies  the  bitter  attacks  of  the  jealousy 
which  knows  it  is  not  mistaken.  Vengeance  was 
there,  however,  so  certain,  so  complete,  so  immedi- 
ate and  impersonal  !  It  was  sufficient  to  allow 
events  to  take  their  course  down  the  slope  upon 
which  they  had  started. 

When  the  poor  child  afterwards  told  me  the 
details  of  this  terrible  day  she  did  not  make  herself 
better  than  she  really  was.  She  confessed  to  me 
that  the  temptation  was  so  strong  that  she  had  to 
act  with  frenzy  and  fury  to  put  something  irre- 
parable between  herself  that  moment,  so  she 
began  to  ring  the  bell  at  the  door,  first  of  all  once. 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  203 

then  twice,  then  three  times,  then  ten  times,  with 
that  prolonged  ring  which  gives  an  accent  of  mad 
insistence  to  the  bell.  She  could  see  in  her  mind  as 
clearly  as  if  she  were  in  the  room  the  two  lovers, 
attracted  by  the  bell,  first  laughing  at  the  thought 
that  it  was  an  inopportune  visitor,  then  exchanging 
glances  in  silence,  Madam  de  Bonnivet  in  affright, 
and  Jacques  trying  to  reassure  her,  as  they  both 
got  up.  How  she  would  have  Uked  to  have  shouted 
"  quick,  quick  !  "  Then  she  began  to  knock 
repeatedly  at  the  door  with  her  clenched  fist. 
Afterwards  she  hstened.  It  seemed  to  her,  for 
the  over-excitement  of  her  anguish  doubled  the 
power  of  her  senses,  that  she  could  distinguish 
a  noise,  a  creaking  of  the  floor  beneath  a  stealthy 
step  on  the  other  side  of  the  still  closed  door  ; 
and  applying  her  mouth  to  the  crack  of  the  door 
to  make  sure  of  being  heard — 

"  It  is  I,  Jacques,"  she  cried,  "  It  is  I,  Camille. 
Open  the  door,  I  beg  of  you,  your  life  is  in  danger. 
Open  the  door,  Pierre  de  Bonnivet  is  in  the  street." 

There  was  no  reply.  She  was  silent,  listening 
once  more  and  asking  herself  whether  she  were 
mistaken  in  thinking  she  heard  a  footstep.  Then 
still  more  maddened,  she  began  again  to  ring  the 
bell  at  the  risk  of  attracting  the  attention  of 
some  other  resident  in  the  house  ;  she  knocked  at 
the  door  and  called  out  :  "  Jacques,  Jacques,  open 
the  door  !  "  and  she  repeated  :  "  Pierre  de  Bonnivet 
is  below  !  "  There  was  still  no  reply.  In  her 
paroxysm  of  fear  a  new  idea  occurred  to  her.  She 
went  down  to  the  porter,  who  had  corae.baclc  with 


204  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

the  cab,  and  who  was  now  distracted  and  moaning 
in  naïve  egoism. 

"  This  comes  of  being  too  good.  If  anything 
happens  we  shall  get  discharged.  Where  shall  we 
go  then  ?     Where  shall  we  get  another  place  ?  " 

"  Give  me  pencil  and  paper,"  she  said,  "  and 
see  if  the  watcher  is  still  there." 

"  He  is  still  there,"  the  porter  answered,  and 
seeing  Camille  fold  the  paper  on  which  she  had 
feverishly  scribbled  a  few  lines,  "  I  see,"  he 
said,  "  you  are  going  to  slip  the  note  under  the 
door.  But  that  won't  get  the  lady  out.  If  I  had 
a  row  with  the  feUow,  we  should  both  be  locked 
up,  and  while  explanations  were  taking  place  she 
could  escape  and  there  would  be  no  scandal  in 
the  house." 

"  That  would  be  one  way,"  Camille  replied, 
though  she  could  not,  in  spite  of  the  gravity  of  the 
danger,  help  smiling  at  the  idea  of  a  struggle 
between  the  man  of  the  people  ana  the  elegant 
sportsman  Pierre  de  Bonnivet  ;  "  but  I  think  mine 
is  the  better  plan." 

She  rushed  up  the  staircase  once  more,  and  after 
ringing  the  bell  as  loudly  as  before,  she  slipped 
under  the  door,  as  the  porter  had  guessed,  the 
bit  of  paper  on  which  she  had  written  :  "  Jacques, 
I  want  to  save  you.  At  least  believe  in  the  love 
you    have    betrayed.     What    more    can    I    say  ? 

Open  the  door.     I  swear  to  you  that  B is  at 

the  corner  of  the  street  watching  for  you.  If  you 
look  to  the  right  you  wiU  see  his  carriage,  and  I 
swear  to  you,  too,  that  I  will  save  you," 


THE  BLUE. DUCHESS  205 

What  a  note,  and  how  I  preserve  it,  having 
obtained  it  from  Jacques  himself,  as  a  monument 
of  harrowing  tenderness  !  It  is  impossible  for 
me  to  transcribe  it  without  shedding  tears.  The 
sublime  lover  had  calculated  that  sooner  or  later 
Jacques  would  have  to  come  to  the  door  to  go 
out.  She  also  told  herself  that  she  would  stand 
against  the  staircase  wall  till,  after  reading  her 
supplication,  he  opened  the  door.  With  what  a 
beating  heart  she  watched  her  white  note  imme- 
diately disappear  !  A  hand  drew  it  inside.  She 
could  hear  the  rustle  of  the  paper  as  the  hand 
unfolded  it  and  the  noise  of  a  window  opening. 
Jacques  was  looking  into  the  street,  as  she  had 
told  him  to  do,  to  verify  for  himself,  in  spite  of 
the  increasing  darkness,  the  accuracy  of  the 
information  contained  in  the  strange  missive. 
To  the  poor  Duchess,  although  she  had  indicated 
the  method  of  verification,  this  proof  of  distrust 
at  that  moment  was  really  like  the  probing  of  a 
wound,  the  most  painful  spot  in  a  painful  wound  ! 
She  had  no  time  to  think  of  this  fresh  humiliation. 
The  door  opened  at  last  and  the  two  lovers  were 
in  the  anteroom  facing  one  another  :  Camille  a 
prey  to  her  exaltation  of  sacrifice  and  martyrdom 
so  strangely  mingled  with  contempt  and  almost 
hatred  ;  he  pale  and  haggard,  and  looking  untidy 
from  his  hasty  toilet. 

"  Come,"  he  began  in  a  low  voice,  "  what  is  it  ? 
You  know  if  you  are  lying,  and  have  come  to  make 
a  scene." 

"  Be    quiet,     wretch  !  "    she    rephed    without 


206  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

deigning  to  lower  her  voice  ;  "  if  I  were  a  woman 
to  make  scenes,  should  I  have  neglected  the 
opportunity  when  you  came  here  with  her  last 
Tuesday  at  three  o'clock  ?  Yes,  I  was  in  that  room, 
there  behind  the  alcove,  and  I  heard  everything  ; 
do  you  understand  ?  everything,  I  did  not  come 
out  and  I  let  you  go.  There  is  no  question  of 
that.  The  husband  of  that  woman  is  at  the 
corner  of  the  street  watching  for  you.  You  looked 
out  of  the  window  and  saw  the  carriage.  I  don't 
want  him  to  kill  you  in  spite  of  what  you  have 
done  to  me.  I  love  you  too  well.  That  is  the 
reason  I  am  here." 

Mol  an  had  watched  this  strange  girl's  face  while 
she  talked.  Suspicious  though  he  was,  that 
being  the  punishment  of  men  who  have  lied  to 
women  too  often,  he  realized  that  Camille  was 
speaking  the  truth.  Then  he  made  a  generous 
movement,  his  first.  If  he  is  an  egoist,  comedian, 
and  a  knave,  he  does  not  lack  courage.  He  has 
several  times,  because  of  slanderous  articles,  fought 
very  unnecessarily  and  very  bravely.  Perhaps 
too,  for  the  idea  of  playing  to  the  gallery  is  never 
absent  from  certain  minds  even  in  solemn  moments, 
he  was  thinking  of  the  report  of  the  drama,  if 
drama  there  was,  which  the  newspapers  would 
publish  far  and  wide.  A  few  words  he  said  to  me 
later  make  one  think  so  :  "  You  must  admit 
that  I  missed  a  magnificent  advertisement  !  " 
But  who  can  teU  what  the  thought  at  the  back  of 
his  head  was,  and  perhaps  after  all  those  words 
were  only  the  after-thought  ^i  a  man  of  his  kind 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  207 

to  conceal  his  rare  natural  outbursts.  Still,  ad- 
justing his  jacket  and  taking  his  hat  from  a  peg 
in  the  anteroom,  he  answered  in  a  loud  voice — 

"  I  believe  you  and  thank  you.  It  is  enough. 
I  know  now  what  I  have  to  do." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  go  down  ?  "  she  said.  "  You 
are  going  to  meet  danger  ?  Will  that  save  you, 
answer  me,  when  you  go  and  ask  that  man — 
what  ?  What  he  is  doing  there  ?  It  would  be 
sacrificing  this  woman,  and  you  have  no  right 
to  do  so.  If  Bonnivet  himself  followed  you,  he 
saw  a  woman  enter.  If  he  had  you  followed,  he 
knows  that  a  woman  is  here.  He  must  see  a 
woman  leave  with  you  in  a  cab  and  conceal  her- 
self. He  must  follow  the  cab  and  leave  this  street 
clear  for  her  to  escape  during  that  time.  i\h,  well  ! 
you  must  go  out  with  me.  There  is  a  cab  waiting. 
I  have  had  it  fetched.  We  will  get  into  it  ;  do  not 
refuse  and  do  not  argue.  Bonnivet  will  see  us  do 
so  and  will  follow  us  in  his  carriage.  He  will 
expect  to  surprise  you  with  her  ;  he  wiU  surprise 
you  with  me,  and  you  will  be  saved."  She  took 
him  in  her  arms  unconsciously,  then  pushed  him 
violently  away  from  her  and  went  on  in  a  low 
voice  :  "  We  are  almost  the  same  height,  go  and  ask 
for  her  cloak.  She  will  take  mine  and  go  five 
minutes  after  us,  after  she  has  seen  her  husband's 
carriage  go.  Wish  her  good-bye,  and  be  sure 
she  does  not  come  to  thank  me.  If  I  saw  her  I 
might  not  be  able  to  control  myself," 

She  took  off  her  long  black  cloak  as  she  spoke 
and  handed  it  to  Jacques,  who  received  it  without  a 


2o8  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

word.  Certain  women's  sacrifices  have  a  magnifi- 
cent simplicity  which  crushes  the  man  who  receives 
them.  He  can  only  accept  them  and  be  ashamed. 
Besides  there  was  no  time  to  hesitate.  Necessity 
was  there,  implacable  and  inevitable.  Jacques 
went  into  the  drawing-room  into  which  the  ante- 
room opened,  while  Camille  remained  standing 
against  the  wall  in  the  outer  room.  "  I  had  a 
knife  in  my  heart,"  she  told  me  afterwards,  "and 
also  a  savage  joy  at  the  idea  that  I  was  over- 
whelming her  by  what  I  was  doing  ;  it  was  a  sorrow- 
ful joy.  I  also  loved  him  again,  and  I  have  never 
loved  him  so  much  as  at  that  moment.  I  realized 
how  pleasant  it  is  to  die  for  some  one  !  At  the  same 
time  I  was  obliged  to  master  myself  to  prevent 
entering  and  insulting  this  wretch,  tearing  her 
chemise  and  striking  her  with  my  hands.  Oh, 
God,  what  moments  they  were  !  " 

While  this  miracle  of  love  was  taking  place  in 
the  commonplace  surroundings  of  this  abode  of 
love,  the  darkness  had  come.  The  street  noises 
penetrated  into  this  anteroom  with  a  sort  of 
sinister  far-away  sound,  and  the  poor  actress  could 
hear  a  whispering  quite  close  to  her,  the  discussion 
taking  place  in  the  other  room  between  the  traitor 
for  whom  her  devotion  was  meant  and  the  accom- 
plice in  his  treachery.  At  last  the  door  opened 
and  Jacques  reappeared.  He  had  his  hat  on  his 
head  and  his  fur  collar  turned  up  to  conceal  half 
his  face.  He  had  in  his  hand  Madam  de  Bonnivet's 
astrakhan  jacket  which  Camille  put  on  with  a 
shudder.     It  was  a  httle  too  large  for  her  at  the 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  209 

breast.  "  I  thought  she  must  be  more  beautiful 
than  I  am  in  spite  of  her  slender  appearance,"  she 
said  to  me  when  telling  me  of  this  very  feminine 
impression,  and  it  was  another  puncture  in  her 
wound. 

"  Come,"  Jacques  went  on  after  a  period  of 
silence.  He  watched  her  put  on  the  jacket  with 
an  expression  in  which  appeared  the  last  gleam 
of  that  distrust,  the  first  sign  of  which  had  been 
the  opening  of  the  window  after  the  note  to  make 
sure  that  Bonnivet  was  really  there.  They 
descended  the  staircase  without  exchanging  a 
word.  At  the  lodge,  while  Jacques  was  telling  the 
porter  to  caU  another  cab  as  soon  as  the  first 
had  gone,  Camille  fastened  her  double  veil  over 
her  face  and  slipped  into  the  cab,  hiding  her  face 
with  a  muff  which  she  showed  to  Jacques  once  the 
door  was  shut. 

"It  is  my  poor  plush  muff,"  she  said  jokingly 
tC'  make  his  courage  return  by  this  proof  of  her 
coolness.  "  It  does  not  go  very  weU  with  this 
millionairess'  jacket.  But  at  this  distance  and 
this  time  in  the  evening  it  will  not  be  noticeable. 
Look  through  the  window  at  the  back  of  the  cab 
and  see  whether  the  carriage  at  the  corner  of  the 
street  is  following  us." 

"  He  is  following  us,"  Jacques  said. 
"  Then  you  are  saved,"  she  replied.  She 
pressed  his  hand  passionately,  in  her  clasp  allaying 
the  anxiety  of  the  cruel  moments  which  she  had 
been  through  and  burst  into  tears.  He  could 
still  find  no  words  to  thank  her,  and  to  relieve 


210  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

his  embarrassment  he  tried,  as  he  had  often  done' 
when  they  were  in  a  cab  together,  and  had  had  a 
quarrel,  to  put  his  arm  round  the  young  woman's 
waist,  draw  her  towards  him  and  snatch  a  kiss. 
His  movement  brought  back  her  furious  hatred 
and  jealousy,  and  repulsing  him  fiercely  she 
said — 

"  No,  never,  never  again." 

"  My  poor  Mila,"  he  said,  calling  her  by  a  pet 
name  he  used  in  moments  of  passion. 

"  Don't  call  me  that,"  she  interrupted,  "  the 
woman  of  whom  you  are  talking  is  dead,  you 
have  killed  her." 

"  But  you  love  me,"  he  insisted.  "  Ah  !  how 
you  love  me  to  have  done  what  you  did  just 
now  !  " 

It  was  her  turn  to  make  him  no  answer.  The 
cab  reached  the  top  of  the  Rue  de  Babylone  with- 
out the  two  lovers  exchanging  any  other  words  than 
this  question  which  Camille  asked  from  time  to 
time  :  "  Are  we  still  being  followed  ?  "  and  Jacques' 
reply  :  "  Yes." 

This  furious  prursuit  by  the  jealous  husband 
displayed  such  an  evident  resolve  for  vengeance 
that  the  actress  and  her  companion  felt  again 
the  anguish  they  had  already  experienced — she 
when  she  recognized  the  face  of  the  watcher  at  the 
window  of  the  stationary  carriage,  he  when  the 
sound  of  the  bell  surprised  him  in  Madam  de 
Bonnivet's  arms.  Would  the  husband  be  duped 
by  the  plan  Camille  had  thought  out  ?  The  fact 
of  his  waiting  till  their  cab  stopped  to  approach 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  211 

the  two  fugitives  testified  to  his  uncertainty,  or  else, 
sure  of  not  losing  sight  of  the  cab,  he  prefen-ed  to 
have  an  explanation  with  the  man  whom  he 
believed  to  be  his  wife's  lover  in  a  more  out-of- 
the-way  place,  where  he  would  alight.  At  last 
Camille  recognized  the  church  of  Saint  François 
Xavier  which  reared  its  two  slender  towers  through 
the  mist. 

"  Here  is  a  good  place  to  stop,"  she  said  as  she 
tapped  for  the  driver  to  do  so.  "  You  will  see  the 
other  carriage  stop  too  and  Bonnivet  get  out.  He 
will  rush  towards  us,  and  then  we  shall  need  all 
our  coolness.  Let  me  get  out  first,  and  if  he  asks 
why  we  conceal  ourselves  like  this,  talk  of  mother." 

It  was  one  of  those  rapid  scenes,  which  the 
actors  themselves,  when  they  recall  them,  think 
they  have  dreamt,  and  do  not  know  whether  they 
have  experienced  a  sensation  of  tragedy  or  comedy. 
Life  is  like  that,  oscillating  from  one  to  the  other 
of  these  two  poles  with  an  instantaneousness 
which  has  never  been  expressed,  I  think,  by 
any  writer  and  never  will  be.  The  change  is 
too  sudden.  At  the  moment  Camille  set  foot  upon 
the  pavement  at  the  foot  of  the  church  steps,  she 
saw  Pierre  de  Bonnivet  suddenly  rise  up  before 
her  ;  he  took  her  arm  and  suddenly  recognized 
her. 

"  Mademoiselle  Favier  !"  he  cried.  Then  he 
stopped,  quite  out  of  countenance,  while  Camille 
in  terror  cowered  against  Molan  who  had  by  this 
time  also  got  out  of  the  cab,  and  who,  as  if  surprised 
at   recognizing  the  man  who  had  rushed  toward 


212  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

his  mistress,  cried  in  a  voice  in  which  there  was  a 
tremor — 

"  Why,  it  is  M.  de  Bonnivet  !  " 

"  Good  gracious,  mademoiselle,"  Queen  Anne's 
husband  stammered  after  a  moment's  dead  silence, 
"  I  must  have  seemed  very  strange  to  you  just 
now,  but  I  thought  I  recognized  some  one  else." 
In  his  hesitation  a  sudden,  immense  and  unhoped- 
for joy  quivered.  The  jealous  husband  had  a 
proof  that  his  suspicions  were  false.  "  I  thought 
I  recognized  the  friend  of  a  friend  of  mine,  and  in 
Molan  the  friend  himself.  You  will  excuse  me, 
will  you  not  ?  What  would  have  been  a  joke  to 
her  becomes  to  a  person  like  yourself,  whom  I 
admire  so  much,  and  with  whom  I  am  so  httle 
acquainted,   an  unpardonable  famiharity." 

"  You  are  quite  forgiven,"  said  Camille  with  a 
laugh,  adding  with  as  much  presence  of  mind  as 
if  she  had  pronounced  the  phrase  on  the  Vaudeville 
stage  in  the  course  of  an  imaginary  crisis,  instead 
of  finding  herself  face  to  face  with  a  real  danger  : 
"  I  live  quite  close  here.  I  asked  the  famous 
author  to  see  me  home  after  rehearsal,  and  I  had 
scruples  about  letting  him  return  alone  and  on 
foot  to  civihzation.  I  am  going  to  get  into  my 
cab  and  leave  you  my  cavalier  to  accompany  you, 
M.  de  Bonnivet.  Molan  will  explain  to  you  that  a 
woman  can  be  an  actress  and  a  simple  ordinary 
woman  as  well,  very  simple  and  very  ordinary. 
Good-bye,   Molan  ;  good-bye,  sir." 

She  bowed  her  pretty  head  coquettishly,  en- 
veloping the  two  men  in  her  lovely  smile,   and 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  213 

made  towards  the  left  side  of  the  church  where 
the  sacristy  was,  while  Jacques  said  to  Bonnivet 
putting  his  finger  to  his  lips — 

"  Because  of  her  mother,  you  know." 
"  I  understand,  you  bad  boy,"  the  other  man 
rephed  with  a  hearty  laugh.  He  continued  to 
feel  that  gaiety  of  deliverance,  so  sweet  as  to  be 
almost  intoxicating,  on  emerging  from  a  torturing 
crisis  like  the  one  he  had  just  been  through.  He 
could  have  kissed  where  he  stood  the  lover  of 
his  wife,  whom  he  had  all  day  been  planning  to 
kill,  and  he  pushed  him  into  his  carriage,  which 
was  splashed  with  mud  right  up  to  the  box  through 
this  fierce  pursuit  across  Paris,  saying  as  he  did  so  : 
"  Where  shall  I  drop  you  ?  You  know  your 
Mademoiselle  Favier  is  quite  charming,  with 
such  distinction  of  manner  too  !  She  had  such 
a  way,  too,  of  justifying  her  drive  with  you  !  Mind, 
I  am  asking  no  questions.  I  will  apologize  again 
to  her  when  she  is  acting  at  my  house.  You 
might  do  so,  too,  for  me,  if  you  don't  mind  !  A 
Ukeness,  you  know,  and  at  that  hour  a  mistake 
is  so  easily  made." 


CHAPTER    IX 

THE  emotion  experienced  by  Camille  during 
this  dramatic  adventure,  suddenly  deter- 
mined upon,  thanks  to  her  presence  of  mind, 
in  a  theatrical  catastrophe,  had  been  so  strong 
that  directly  she  was  out  of  sight  of  the  two  men 
she  felt  like  fainting.  All  she  could  do  was  to  get 
into  a  cab  and  drive  to  the  Rue  de  la  Barouillère. 
There  a  real  attack  of  nervous  fever  prostrated 
her  and  made  her  go  to  bed.  So  it  was  not  from 
her  that  I  learned  this  episode  in  which  she  played 
a  part  so  naturally,  spontaneously,  magnanimously, 
and  generously.  It  was  a  noble  part  which 
suited  the  noble  heart  revealed  by  her  beautiful 
blue  eyes,  by  her  proud  mouth,  and  by  her  well 
bred  and  charming  personality  !  Otherwise,  had 
she  been  well  enough  to  get  out,  on  the  day  fol- 
lowing this  dreadful  day  she  would  have  hastened 
to  me  to  complete  her  sorrowful  confidence  of 
her  first  surprise  by  her  second  confidence  of  her 
heroic  sacrifice  for  her  most  unworthy  lover.  But 
persons  capable  of  acting  as  she  had  acted  do  not 
boast. 

It  was  Molan  himself  who  first  told  me  the  details 
of  these  almost   incredible  scenes — at  least   those 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  215 

he  knew,  Camille  herself  having  since  completed 
them.  The  subtle  feline  person  had  two  reasons 
for  making  me  acquainted  with  this  adventure, 
in  which  he  still  played  a  flattering  part — current 
morality  being  taken  for  granted — of  a  man  loved 
to  distraction  by  one  of  the  most  elegant  and 
courted  women  in  Paris,  and  to  martyrdom  by 
one  of  the  prettiest  actresses  not  only  in  Paris  but 
in  Europe.  The  first  of  these  two  reasons  was  his 
natural  fatuity,  and  the  second  his  interest.  He 
was  afraid  that  after  such  an  experience  the  devo- 
tion of  the  Blue  Duchess  would  shrink  from 
another  ordeal,  that  of  acting  a  comedy  at  the 
house  of  the  rival  she  had  saved.  Now  he  con- 
sidered, not  without  good  reason,  that  Camille's 
presence  at  Madam  de  Bonnivet's  party  was  the 
indispensable  conclusion  of  the  scene  in  the  Place 
Saint  François  Xavier.  The  husband's  suspicions 
must  have  been  strongly  aroused  to  have  gone 
to  the  extremity  of  espionage,  and  there  was  no 
answer  to  this  phrase  with  which  Molan  completed 
his  disclosure. 

"  As  long  as  Bonnivet  does  not  see  these  two 
women  face  to  face,  his  suspicion  may  be  again 
aroused,  and  suspicion  is  like  apoplexy,  the  first 
attack  can  be  cured  but  there  is  no  remedy  for 
the  second." 

His  theory  was  right.  But  while  he  retailed 
it  to  me,  as  a  conclusion,  my  thoughts  were  only 
for  the  real  drama  he  had  just  narrated.  I  can 
still  hear  myself  crying,"  Oh,  the  wretches  !  "  When 
he  described  to  me  Camille  in  the  anteroom    of 


2i6  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

the  suite  of  rooms,  while  Madam  do  Bonnivet 
was  hstening  to  her  repeated  ringing  of  the  bell, 
pale  with  terror,  I  can  reahze  to-day  that  this  story 
of  Jacques'  was  most  indelicate  on  his  part,  for  he 
must  needs  begin  by  this  phrase.  "  First  of  all 
I  will  tell  you  the  whole  truth.  I  am  Madam 
de  Bonnivet 's  lover."  I  was  no  longer  astonished 
at  my  colleague's  C5micism.  WTien  he  had 
finished,  the  misery  of  this  adventure  overwhelmed 
me  with  sorrow,  and  there  were  tears  in  my  voice 
when  I  asked  him — 

"  And  after  that  you  want  Camille  to  act  at 
that  woman's  house  ?  " 

"  She  must,"  he  replied,  "  and  I  am  relying 
upon  you  to  ask  her." 

"  Upon   me,"    I    cried,    "  you   must    be   mad." 

"  Not  a  bit,"  he  went  on.  "It  is  very  simple. 
While  hstening  to  you  she  will  only  think  of  the 
risk  I  have  run  and  say  '  yes.'  That  is  the  a. 
b.  c.  of  jealousy." 

"  But  if  she  refuses.  You  seem  to  think  she 
has  no  malice  against  you." 

"  Not  a  bit,"  he  replied  with  his  frightful  smile  ; 
"  either  I  am  quite  ignorant  of  the  human  heart, 
or  else  she  has  never  loved  me  so  much,  since  I 
have  never  treated  her  so  badly." 

"  If  she  does  not  tell  me  the  story  you  have 
just  told  me,  how  am  I  to  turn  the  conversation  ?  " 

"  She  will  tell  you;  then  be  the  first  to  begin. 
Confess  that  I  have  told  3^ou  in  the  madness  of  my 
emotion  and  remorse.  It  will  not  be  a  lie,  for 
it  is  a  fact  that  in  the  cab  yesterday  while  I  looked 


THE  BTJTE  DUCHESS  217 

at  Camille  sitting  in  her  corner  with  fixed  gaze 
and  excited  face,  I  would  have  given  everything 
to  love  her  at  that  moment  as  she  loved  me. 
Explain  that-  I  was  not  thinking  of  the  other 
woman.  I  called  upon  the  latter  to-day.  What 
a  woman,  my  dear  friend,  and  how  the  crack 
of  the  whip  of  danger  made  her  vibrate  !  I  found 
her  with  her  husband  after  breakfast,  and  he  left 
us  together  after  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  affectionate 
talk,  which  proves  that  his  suspicion  is  at  any 
rate  a  httle  allayed.  That  man  does  not  know 
how  to  pretend.  Lately  he  has  hardly  shaken 
hands  with  me.  We  did  not  abuse  his  com- 
plaisance and  we  were  right,  for  I  met  him  returning 
home,  as  I  was  leaving  twenty  minutes  later,  to 
find  out  how  long  my  visit  had  lasted.  There 
was  just  time  for  Anne  to  give  me  the  two  or 
three  most  indispensable  items  of  information. 
You  admire  Camille's  courage,  don't  you  ?  But 
what  will  you  say  to  the  presence  of  mind  of  this 
great  lady  who  was  indeed  risking  something, 
her  life  perhaps,  her  honour  without  a  doubt,  her 
position  and  everything  which  constitutes  her 
reasons  for  existence.  Do  you  know  where  she 
went  when  she  was  able  to  escape.  She  drove 
straight  to  a  furrier's,  where  she  purchased  an 
astrakhan  jacket  as  hke  the  other  one  as  possible. 
She  had  no  money  to  pay  for  it  and  did  not  like 
to  leave  her  name.  The  idea  struck  her  to  go  to 
her  jeweller  and  borrow  the  money.  She  pretend- 
ed that  she  had  lost  her  purse,  and  then  returned 
to  the  furrier's  to  pay  for  her  jacket,  picked  up 


2i8  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

her  own  carriage,  whicli  she  had  left  at  a  friend's 
house  and  ordered  to  meet  her  outside  the  shops 
near  the  Louvre,  and  reappeared  at  home  dressed 
as  she  was  when  she  went  out.  These  are  the 
true  details.  Would  you  believe  them  ?  Her 
visit  to  the  jeweller's  and  furrier's  moved  me  very 
much.  How  frightened  she  must  have  been  at 
risking  them.  Now  all  she  has  to  do  is  to  tell 
her  maid  a  lie  to  account  for  the  difference  of 
jackets.  A  mistake  after  calling  or  trying  on,  that 
is  all.  But  every  fresh  little  lie  is  a  new  landmark 
if  the  husband  pursues  his  inquiries.  This  man 
would  shrink  from  questioning  the  servants.  That 
is  what  saved  us  this  time.  He  will  have  had  me 
followed,  not  his  wife,  but  I  was  imprudent  enough 
to  accompany  her  to  the  rooms.  My  luck  makes 
me  frightened,"  he  added  seriously,  after  being 
silent  for  a  time. 

"  Yesterday's  discovery  has,  all  the  same,  not 
destroyed  Bonni vet's  jealousy,  I  repeat,  since  he 
returned  home  during  my  visit,  and  if  Camille 
does  not  keep  her  promise  his  suspicion  may  be 
aroused  again." 

"  But  with  this  distrust  and  the  knowledge 
he  possesses  of  your  rooms,"  I  said,  "  your  appoint- 
ments will  not  be  very  easy  to  make." 

"  It  is  for  that  reason  that  Madam  de  Bonnivet 
wiU  not  fail  to  keep  one  now.  She  is  a  curious 
and  bored  woman,  and  her  commonplace  adventure 
with  me  has  at  last  given  her  the  tremor,"  he  added 
smihngly.  "  Ah,  ah,  she  is  of  the  same  nature  as 
the   divine   marquis   to   some   extent.     But   you 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  2ig 

don't  understand  these  things  at  all,  my  dear 
boy.  As  for  the  address  of  the  rooms,  the  fact 
that  Bonnivet  knows  it  will  make  no  difference. 
Having  seen  me  leave  there  with  Camille,  he  will 
never  believe  me  capable  of  taking  the  other  one 
to  the  Rue  Nouvelle." 

"  You  will  go  on  then  without  any  fear  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  was  frightened  yesterday  when  I 
heard  the  ringing  and  knocking  at  the  door,  and 
I  repeat  that  I  am  sometimes  afraid  of  my  luck. 
It  is  as  stupid  as  believing  in  the  evil  eye,  but  the 
feehng  is  stronger  than  I  am." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  that  in  CamiUe,"  I  repHed, 
"  you  have  met  the  only  woman  in  Paris  capable 
of  such  an  action.  If  you  had  even  a  Httle  bit 
of  heart,  you  would  spend  your  life  in  making 
her  pardon  your  infamy." 

"  My  dear  boy,"  he  interrupted,  "  then  you  will 
never  understand  that  she  only  loves  me  like 
that  because  she  understands  that  I  do  not  love 
her.  Then,"  he  added,  shrugging  his  shoulders, 
"  without  doubt  it  is  a  question  of  personality, 
I  desire  the  other  one  and  I  do  not  desire  Camille. 
This  explanation  of  love  is  not  brilliant,  and  if  the 
abstractors  of  quintessence  who  subtilize  upon 
the  sentiment,  like  your  friend  Dorsenne,  gave  it 
in  one  of  their  books,  they  would  lose  their  feminine 
clientele,  their  twenty-five  thousand  skirts  I 
call  it.  I  myself  am  neither  an  analyst  nor  a 
psychologist,  and  I  maintain  that  this  explanation 
is  the  true  one." 

"So  he  told  you  everything  !  "  Camille  said 


220  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

ironically  when  I  saw  her  the  day  after  this  con- 
versation. I  had  written  to  her,  to  be  sure  and 
not  miss  her.  I  found  her  pale  with  eyes  burning 
from  insomnia.  She  was  in  the  little  drawing- 
room  in  the  Rue  de  la  Barouillère,  which  always 
looked  so  commonplace,  poor  and  grey,  while 
its  canvas-covered  furniture  gave  it  the  appearance 
of  a  room  prepared  for  moving.  "  Did  he  boast  also 
of  the  delicacy  with  which  his  wretch  of  a  mistress 
thanked  me  ?  Here,"  and  she  handed  me  a 
leather  case  with  her  monogram  upon  it,  CF., 
which  I  had  noticed  her  lingering  nervously  for 
five  minutes.  I  opened  the  case,  which  contained, 
gHstening  upon  black  velvet,  a  massive  gold 
bracelet  incrested  with  diamonds.  It  was  one 
of  those  jewels  in  which  the  work  of  the  goldsmith 
is  reduced  to  a  minimum,  and  of  which  the  brutal 
richness  makes  the  present  an  equivalent  of  a 
cheque  or  a  roll  of  sovereigns.  I  looked  at  the 
bracelet,  then  I  looked  at  Camille  with  a 
look  in  which  she  could  read  my  sui-prise  at  the 
method  employed  by  Madam  de  Bonnivet  to  pay 
her  for  her  devotion. 

"  Yes,"  the  actress  went  on,  and,  in  a  tone  of 
disgust  which  made  me  ill,  she  repeated  :  "  Yes, 
that  is  the  object  which  came  this  very  evening 
with  my  coat.  It  is  my  medal  for  bravery," 
she  sneered.  "  My  first  object  as  soon  as  I  go  out 
will  be  to  give'  the  wretch  a  lesson  in  delicacy  !  " 

"  Be  content  with  returning  the  jewel  through 
Jacques  to  her,"  I  suggested.  "  A  scene  would 
be  too  unworthy  of  you.     When  a  person  has 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  221 

the  whip  hand,  which  you  most  certainly  have,  it 
is  wise  to  keep  it  to  the  end." 

"  No,"  she  proudly  said,  "  there  will  be  no 
scene  between  us.  I  would  not  have  one.  I  will 
go  and  sell  the  bracelet  to  a  jeweller,  then  I  will 
go  to  a  church,  spend  the  money  in  charity, 
and  Madam  de  Bonnivet  will  receive  with  her 
jacket  two  Uttle  pieces  of  paper — one  the  jeweller's 
biU,  and  a  note  from  the  priest  saying,  '  Received 
for  the  poor,  from  Madam  de  Bonnivet,  so  much.' 
This  infamous  adventure  will  at  least  have  served 
to  put  a  fire  on  a  tireless  hearth  and  a  loaf  of  bread 
on  an  empty  table." 

"  Suppose  the  husband  is  there  when  the 
messenger  arrives  ?"  I  asked. 

"  She  must  explain  it  the  best  way  she  can," 
Camille  said,  and  a  gleam  of  cruelty  passed  into 
her  blue  eyes,  which  deepened  in  colour  almost 
to  black.  "  Do  you  think  I  should  have  moved 
my  little  finger  to  help  her  the  day  before  yester- 
day, if  it  had  not  been  necessary  to  save  her  to 
save  Jacques  ?  Ah  !  that  Jacques  has  not  even 
called  to  inquire  after  me  this  morning.  He 
knows,  too,  that  I  have  not  acted  for  two  consecu- 
tive evenings.  He  knows  me  and  that  emotion 
makes  me  ill.  Vincent,"  she  added,  taking  my 
hand  in  her  feverish  grasp,  "  never  love.  It  is 
such  madness  to  have  a  heart  in  this  cruel  world. 
From  Jacques  I  have  not  even  had  a  note,  two 
words  upon  his  card,  the  little  sign  of  politeness 
one  owes  to  a  suffering  friend." 

"  You  are  not  just,"  I  told  her,  "  he  fears  to 


22-t  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

face  you.  It  is  very  natural.  He  is  too  conscious 
of  his  faults,  and,  you  see,  he  has  sent  me  to  find 
out  how  you  are." 

"  No,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head  dolefully, 
"  he  came  to  see  you,  because  he  needed  you  for 
something.  Confess  to  me  what  it  was  ?  From 
the  first  I  told  you  that  you  do  not  know  how  to 
he  or  scheme.  Oh,  God  !  how  nice  it  would  be  to 
love  some  one  Hke  you,  not  in  the  way  I  love  you, 
as  a  friend,  but  in  the  other  way  !  Come,  confess 
that  you  have  a  commission  from  Jacques  for 
me." 

"  Well,  yes,"  I  replied  after  a  second's  hesita- 
tion. There  was  such  uprightness  in  this  strange 
girl,  such  a  rare  nobility  of  sentiment  emanated 
from  her  whole  being  !  To  finesse  with  her 
seemed  to  me  a  real  shame.  I  therefore  gave  her, 
simply  and  sadly,  Jacques'  message  :  simply,  be- 
cause I  reckoned,  and  rightly,  too,  that  the  surest 
way  to  influence  her  was  to  state  the  facts  without 
any  phrasing  ;  sadly,  because  I  felt  the  hardness 
of  this  new  demand  of  Molan's.  I  also  realized  its 
necessity.  When  I  had  finished,  tears  came  into 
her  blue  eyes. 

"  So,"  she  said,  with  an  even  more  bitter  ex- 
pression and  a  disenchanted  smile,  in  which  there 
was  much  love,  though  it  was  for  ever  poisoned 
by  contempt,  "  he  has  thought  of  that,  to  save 
this  woman  again  !  He  finds  that  I  have  not 
sacrificed  myself  enough.  Besides,  it  is  logical. 
When  one  has  begun,  as  I  did,  one  must  go  on  to 
the  end.     I  will  go."     With  her  forehead  crossed 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  223 

by  a  wrinkle  of  resolution,  her  eyes  hard,  and  her 
mouth  ugly,  she  went  on  :  "  Very  well,  Vincent. 
You  have  repeated  his  words  to  me,  and  I  thank 
you.  That  must  have  cost  you  something,  too  ! 
You  owed  me  that  frankness.  You  promise  to 
exactly  repeat  mine  to  him,  do  you  not  ?  Tell  M. 
Molan,  then,  that  I  wiU  act  at  Madam  de  Bonni- 
vet's  as  is  arranged.  Yes,  I  wiU  act  there,  and 
no  one,  you  understand,  shaU  suspect  with  what 
feeUngs.  But  it  is  on  one  condition — tell  him  that, 
too,  and  if  he  does  not  keep  it,  I  will  break  my 
promise  :  I  forbid  him,  you  understand,  I  forbid 
him  to  write  or  speak  to  me  from  this  time  on- 
ward. He  will  talk  to  me  at  that  woman's  house 
just  sufficiently  to  prevent  anything  being  noticed. 
That  must  be  all.  I  shall  not  know  him  after- 
wards, you  understand.  After  this  last  act  he  is 
dead  to  me.  Perhaps  I  shall  really  die  myself," 
she  added  in  a  stifled  voice,  "  but  it  is  all  over 
between  us." 

She  made  a  gesture  with  her  hands  as  of  tearing 
up  an  invisible  agreement.  Her  eyes  closed  for  a 
moment.  Her  features  contracted  with  a  twitch 
of  pain,  and  then  this  creature,  so  feminine  in 
her  grace  and  mobility,  assumed  a  tender  look 
and  a  gentle  smile  as  she  got  up  and  said  to 
me — 

"  Leave  me  now,  friend.  Don't  come  to  see 
me  again  before  I  let  you  know.  We  will  finish 
the  picture  later  on.  I  love  and  esteem  you  very 
much,  and  feel  real  sjmipathy  for  you.  But," 
her  voice  was  stifled  as  she  concluded,   "  but  I 


224  THF  P.TUE  DITHKSS 

must  forget,  all  the  same,  to  try  and  live."  Then 
with  a  proud  Httle  inclination  of  her  blonde  head 
and  a  courageous  shrug  of  her  slender  shoulders, 
she  concluded  :  "I  am  not  to  be  pitied.  I  have 
my  art  left." 

I  knew  that  Camille  was  incapable  of  breaking 
a  promise  made  with  such  seriousness  as  to  be 
almost  solemnity.  She  had  that  trait  common  to 
all  persons,  men  or  women,  who  attach  great  im- 
portance to  their  feehngs  :  a  fastidious  scrupulous- 
ness in  keeping  unwritten  agreements,  reciprocal 
engagements.  Therefore  I  insisted  with  the  great- 
est energy  upon  Jacques  confomiing  strictly  to 
the  condition  which  the  actress  had  imposed  upon 
him,  and  I  myself,  great  though  the  cost  was  to 
me,  had  the  courage  to  observe  with  the  greatest 
rigour  the  programme  of  absence  and  silence,  the  wis- 
dom of  which  I  understood.  Around  certain  moral 
fevers,  just  as  around  certain  physical  ones,  there 
is  darkness,  suppression  of  motion,  and  a  total 
suspension  of  life.  In  spite  of  my  absolute  faith 
in  Camille's  word,  I  was  not  without  uneasiness 
when  I  repaired  a  few  days  later  to  Madam  de 
Bonnivet's  party.  I  knew  that  the  poor  Blue 
Duchess,  if  not  quite  restored  to  health,  was  at 
least  weU  enough  to  reappear  at  the  theatre. 
When  I  say  that  I  followed  the  programme  drawn 
up  by  her  with  the  greatest  rigour,  I  must  add 
that  I  allowed  myself  once  to  go  and  see  her  act 
without,  as  I  thought,  breaking  the  agreement, 
since  she  did  not  see  me  sitting  in  the  pit,  and  I 
had  a  feehng  of  relief  at  seeing  that  there  was  no 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  2?< 

difference  in  her  acting.  I  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  she  had  taken  to  her  art  again,  as  she  had 
said  to  me,  to  that  cult  of  the  theatre  which  had 
been  the  naïve  enthusiasm  of  the  dreams  of  her 
youth.  I  hoped  that  that  love  which  never  de- 
ceives would  cure  the  wound  made  by  the  other. 
But  in  the  carriage  which  conveyed  Jacques  and 
I  to  the  club,  where  we  again  dined  together,  this 
confidence  gave  place  to  apprehension,  in  spite  of 
my  companion's  optimism,  he  having  become  once 
more  a  person  of  an  imperturbable  assurance. 
which  seemed  born  to  manœuvre  in  false  situa- 
tions, 

"  I  am  curious,"  he  said  to  me,  "  to  know  what 
she  has  prepared  for  her  audience  of  swells.  She 
has  promised  the  great  scene  from  La  Duchesse 
Blue  with  Bressorè,  and  then  a  few  monologues 
and  imitations.  You  don't  know  her  in  that  light, 
do  you  ?  She  has  like  every  actor  or  actress  her 
monkey  side." 

"  Imitations  !  "  I  repeated.  "  Fashionable 
people  are  admirable.  They  no  sooner  have  in 
their  hands  an  artist  of  talent  than  they  become 
possessed  of  a  single  idea,  to  degrade  that  talent 
by  forcing  the  possessor  to  become  a  plaything  for 
them  If  it  is  a  painter  like  Mirant,  they  order 
from  him  portraits  with  a  disgusting  want  of 
expression  to  put  upon  bon-bon  boxes  !  If  he  is 
a  man  of  letters  like  you,  they  make  him  write  bad 
prose  and  verse  at  a  moment's  notice  !  If  he  is  a 
musician,  he  has  to  produce  a  piece  for  the  piano 
at  once  !     In  the  case  of  an  actress  like  Camille, 

H 


2i6  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

with  ardour,  temperament,  and  passion,  they  make 
a  parade  of  her.  Good  God,  what  foolishness  it 
is  !     What  is  going  to  happen  to-night  ?  " 

"  Would  you  prefer,"  sneered  the  dramatic 
author,  to  hear  the  plaints  of  Iphigenia  or  of 
Esther  proclaimed  ten  paces  away  from  a  buffet 
laden  with  foie  gras  sandwiches,  punch,  orangeade, 
chocolate  and  iced  champagne  ?  On  my  word  of 
honour  you  seem  to  me  admirable  !  But  if  you 
had  the  lightest  tint  of  that  transcendental  irony, 
without  which  life  does  not  present  the  slightest 
savour,  you  would  find  it  exquisite  that  my  pretty 
Blue  Duchess  has  saved  the  honour,  and  perhaps 
the  Ufe,  of  my  adorable  Queen  Anne,  and  that 
they  met  face  to  face — one  playing  her  part  as  a 
fashionable  Parisian  hostess,  respected  and  wor- 
shipped ;  the  other  giving  her  performance  before 
an  audience  of  the  idle  ;  while  I  myself  am  the 
third  person.  My  only  regret  for  the  beauty  of 
the  situation  is  that  I  did  not  have  an  appoint- 
ment with  both  during  the  day.  Would  you  be- 
lieve it  ?  Since  these  happenings  I  desire  Camille 
again,  and  I  would  retake  her  if  I  did  not  fear  to 
spoil  her  masterpiece.  Yes,  the  masterpiece  of 
her  rupture  For  she  has  discovered  it  ;  there  is 
no  denying  it.  If  André  Mareml  had  not  laid 
down  his  humorous  pen  to  become  a  Commissioner 
of  Police,  if  he  were  still  writing  his  Art  de 
rompre  instead  of  drawing .  up  regulations,  I 
should  submit  the  case  to  him.  Have  you  ever 
thought  of  a  more  divine  method  of  a  mistress 
ridding  herself  of  her  lover  and  leaving  in  his  mind 


TMÉ  BLUE  DUCHESS  22^- 

an  exquisite  memory  ?  That  is  the  ideal  end  of 
love." 

"  Try  at  least  to  be  ashamed  of  your  egoism," 
I  interrupted.  I  realized  that  he  was  amusing 
himself  by  making  my  naïveté  display  itself,  and 
that  he  was  joking.  But  actually  the  fact  that 
he  was  unable  to  jest  on  such  an  occasion  angered 
me,  and  I  continued,  touching  his  breast  as  I  did 
so  :  "  Have  you,  then,  absolutely  nothing  there 
but  a  ream  of  paper  and  a  bottle  of  ink,  for  the 
idea  of  this  love,  devotion  and  sorrow,  only  to 
inspire  you  with  one  more  paradox  instead  of 
bringing  tears  from  your  eyes  ?  " 

"  One  must  never  judge  what  is  visible,"  he 
repHed  with  sudden  seriousness  which  contrasted 
strangely  with  his  former  flippancy.  Did  he 
conceal  in  an  inner  fold  of  his  heart,  poisoned 
though  it  was  with  social  vanity,  commercial  cal- 
culations and  hterary  ambitions,  a  tender  corner, 
too  small  to  be  ever  exalted  into  complete  passion, 
but  sufficiently  alive  to  sometimes  bleed,  and  had 
I  touched  the  secret  wound  ?  Or  was  his  one  of 
those  complicated  natures  which  keep  just  enough 
sensibiHty  to  suffer  because  they  have  no  more  ? 
These  two  latter  hypothesis  are  not  irreconcilable 
in  such  a  complex  nature.  They  would  at  least 
explain  the  anomaly  of  a  talent  for  accurate 
human  observation,  being  associated  with  such 
implacable  hardness  of  heart  and  a  systematic 
and  utihtarian  depravity  of  mind.  Never  had  the 
astounding  contrast  between  Jacques'  person  and 
his  work  struck  me  as  it  did  in  that  rapidly  moving 


2'«Ç  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

carriage.  He  was  the  first  to  break  a  silence 
which  had  lasted  for  a  few  minutes  by  saying — 
he  was  without  doubt  replying  to  a  thought  my 
reproaches  had  suggested  to  him — 

"  Besides,  if  it  were  to  begin  again,  I  should 
have  prevented  that  party.  It  is  useless.  I 
don't  know  what  fresh  information  Bonnivet  has 
received,  but  he  is  charming  to  me  and  his  wife. 
I  found  both  of  them  the  other  day  examining 
two  ornaments  their  jeweller  had  just  brought. 
In  parenthesis,  what  do  you  think  of  this  conjugal 
scene  ?  She  was  clasping  around  her  neck  a  necklace 
of  pearls  and  looking  at  herself  in  the  glass,  while 
her  husband  said  to  me — to  me  ! — as  she  showed 
me  another  one  :  '  Which  one  do  you  prefer  ?  ' 
She  experienced  a  keen  pleasure  at  this  high 
comedy  scene.  I  saw  that  her  eyes  were  shining 
hke  the  pearls  in  the  necklace.  At  what  price 
had  she  purchased  this  renewal  of  confidence  ?  " 

"  But,"  I  said,  "  did  not  a  scene  hke  this,  and 
the  conclusion  you  drew  from  it,  make  you  take 
your  hat  and  stick  and  go  away,  never  to  return  ?  " 

"  You  are  not,  and  never  will  be,  intellectual, 
my  dear  boy,"  he  replied.  "  Understand  that 
there  is  a  sort  of  bitter  and  ferocious  joy  in  des- 
pising what  one  desires,  just  as  there  is  in  enjoying 
what  one  hates.  That  is  how  Queen  Anne  holds 
me  fast,  perhaps  for  a  long  time,  just  as  I  hold  her 
fast  by  the  attraction  of  the  danger  involved.  We 
have  already,  since  the  affair,  revisited  the  rooms  in 
the  Rue  Nouvelle  ;  would  you  beheve  it  ?  Decidedly 
there  is  no  tincture  of  cantharides  hke  fear  ?  " 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  22c 

"That  is  folly,"  I  cried,  "to  tempt  fate  like 
that  !  " 

"  Quite  right,"  he  said  with  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulders,  "  but  one  must  hve  to  write.  There  is 
a  play  in  this  story,  and  I  will  not  miss  it." 

We  reached  Madam  de  Bonnivet's  house,  and 
found  a  long  string  of  carriages  already  in  the 
street.  I  was  to  find  a  great  difference  between 
the  almost  familiar  reception  of  the  other  evening 
and  my  reception  now.  It  seemed  as  if  Jacques 
had  in  those  few  minutes  tried  to  give  a  complete 
representation  of  the  different  phases  of  character 
of  this  human  lighthouse.  While  we  ascended 
the  carved  wooden  staircase,  with  its  wealth  of 
pictures,  busts,  tapestry,  and  ancient  stuffs,  he 
whispered  to  me  this  last  expression,  which  had 
nothing  cunning  nor  dandified  about  it,  but  was 
simply  the  childish  vanity  of  the  middle-class 
gentleman  engaged  in  a  love  affair — 

"  You  must  admit  that  my  friend  is  not  badly 
housed  ?  " 

I  am  quite  sure  that  at  that  moment  the  carpets 
upon  which  his  pmnps  rested  warmed  a  secret 
place  in  his  heart.  I  am  certain  that  the  lustre 
on  that  staircase  illuminated  the  darkest  depths 
of  his  snobbish  conceit.  I  am  sure  that  a  con- 
queror's pride  swelled  his  chest  as  he  said  to  himself 
in  these  luxurious  surroundings  :  "  I  am  her  lover." 
He  had  become  during  the  last  few  weeks  too 
transparent  for  this  shade  of  his  sensibility  to 
escape  me.  Each  of  his  words  was  hke  the  strik- 
ing of  a  clock,  the  works  of  which  are  in  a  glass 


^$0  THÉ  BLUE  DUCHESS 

case.  When  the  sound  strikes  the  ear  one  can  see 
the  Httle  cogwheels  bite  the  large  ones  and  the 
compHcated  mechanism  at  work. 

The  hall  doors  had  opened,  and  Jacques  and 
myself  were  at  once  separated.  The  spectacle, 
which  this  room,  vaulted  like  a  chapel  and  unknown 
to  me,  and  the  two  drawing-rooms  opening  from 
it  presented,  awakened  the  painter  in  me,  the  man 
used  to  vibrating  by  a  look.  In  a  corner  of  the 
hall  a  httle  platform  had  been  erected,  which  was 
empty  just  then.  There  were  perhaps  fifty 
women  sitting  with  a  hke  number  of  men,  all  in 
evening  dress,  and  the  women's  jewels  sparkled 
in  their  blonde  or  dark  hair  and  on  their  naked 
shoulders.  The  entire  range  of  colours  was  dis- 
played in  these  various  toilettes,  which  were 
heightened  by  their  contrast  with  the  black  coats 
and  the  details  which  had  on  my  first  visit  to 
this  house  so  displeased  me,  the  too  composite 
character  of  the  decorations,  blended  and  har- 
monized as  they  were  in  this  light  with  the  aid 
of  the  moving  crowd.  Fans  were  waving,  eyes 
shining,  faces  were  animated  by  questions  and 
answers,  and  Queen  Anne,  towards  whom  I  went 
to  pay  my  respects,  really  had  in  her  white  evening 
dress  the  majestic  air  of  a  princess  worshipped  by 
her  courtiers. 

As  I  approached  her,  I  thought  of  the  mortal 
peril  she  had  been  in  the  other  week.  There 
seemed  to  me  no  more  trace  of  it  in  her  pale  azure 
eyes  than  there  was  of  jealousy  upon  Bonni vet's 
beaming  face.     For  the  first,  and.  without  doubt. 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  231 

the  last  time  in  my  life,  I  was  supplied  with  positive 
information  about  a  fashionable  intrigue.  Usually 
one  does  not  know  the  history  of  these  fine  gentle- 
men and  beautiful  ladies  except  from  a  vague 
"  they  say."  A  woman  is  suspected  of  having  so 
and  so  for  a  lover,  and  a  man  is  suspected  of 
having  so  and  so  as  his  mistress.  This  suspicion, 
which  to  people  of  their  class  is  equivalent  to  cer- 
tainty, is  not  reduced  to  exactness.  The  street 
and  number  of  the  house  where  they  meet  is  not 
known.  It  is  not  known  under  what  circumstances 
they  start  for  the  rendezvous.  A  door  remains 
open  to  doubt,  and  if  not  open  it  is  ajar. 

As  I  bowed  to  Madam  de  Bonnivet  and  received 
her  greeting  in  the  form  of  an  amiable  common- 
place, I  could  see  this  haughty  head  on  the  pillow 
in  the  chamber  of  adultery,  and  the  terror  of  her 
disturbed  features  when  the  continuous  ringing 
of  the  bell  and  the  repeated  knocking  at  the  door 
had  warned  her  of  her  danger.  The  contrast  was 
so  sharp  that  for  the  first  time  I  understood  the 
unhealthy  attraction  which  this  to  some  extent 
double  existence  exercises  over  certain  imagina- 
tions, and  why  women  or  men  who  have  tasted 
these  sensations  no  longer  find  any  rehsh  in  others. 
Such  profound  and  perilous  deception  procurer 
something  hke  an  evil  intoxication,  the  pleasure 
of  a  really  superior  and  almost  demoniac  hypocrisy, 
to  the  man  or  woman  who  He  in  that  fashion.  To 
this  kind  of  infernal  falsehood  belonged  the  phrase 
which  Madam  de  Bonnivet  used  to  close  our  rapid 
and  uninteresting  conversation. 


232  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

"  There  is  some  one  who  would  not  forgive  me 
for  detaining  you  any  longer,"  she  said,  and  the 
point  of  her  fan  indicated  a  direction  which  my 
glance  foUowed.  I  saw  Camille  Favier,  whom  at 
that  moment  Jacques  was  approaching.  "  Go 
and  speak  to  her,"  she  continued,  "  and  tell  your 
friend  Molan  that  I  have  a  Httle  commission  for 
him  while  I  think  of  it." 

I  was  prepared,  on  arriving  that  evening,  to 
encounter  much  coolness  in  this  woman,  who  was 
depraved  by  coldness  a  coquette  through  egoism, 
and  curious  even  as  regards  vice  through  idleness. 
I  had  not  even  thought  the  audacity  of  such  a 
phrase  addressed  by  her  to  me  who  knew  every- 
thing possible.  In  spite  of  my  firm  intention  not 
to  allow  my  impressions  to  appear,  she  read  my 
astonishment  in  my  face.  Her  half-closed  eyes 
darted  at  me  the  most  incisive  look  which  has 
ever  fathomed  the  soul  of  a  man  to  its  depths. 
Without  doubt,  regarding  her  liaison  with  Molan, 
she  thought  I  had  only  one  of  those  hypotheses, 
which  I  was  unable  to  verify,  one  of  those  hypo- 
theses which  grow  around  those  so-called  mys- 
teries, Parisian  love  affairs,  and  that  I  could  not 
very  well  conceal  my  deductions.  The  acuteness 
of  her  eyes  became  dulled  into  indulgent  irony, 
and  I  left  her  to  obey  the  order  she  had  given  me, 
but  in  part  only.  She  had  obviously  calculated, 
with  her  habit  of  relying  upon  the  evil  sentiments 
of  her  intimates,  that  I  should  be  only  too  happy 
to  convey  her  message  to  Jacques  in  Camille's 
presence,  to  make  their  quarrel  all  the  worse  and 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  233 

put  my  friend  in  a  somewhat  false  position.  She 
was  to  find  out  that  a  good  fellow  of  a  painter 
did  not  lend  himself  to  this  pleasantry.  I  ap- 
proached the  two  lovers  as  if  the  beautiful  enemy 
of  the  pretty  actress  had  not  entrusted  me  with 
any  commission.  They  were  only  exchanging, 
according  to  agreement,  the  most  indispensable 
polite  phrases  in  a  loud  voice — 

"  Have  you  come  to  this  corner  of  Bohemia, 
then  ?  "  Molan  said,  my  presence  restoring  his 
natural  assurance  to  him  ;  "  it  is  quite  natural 
that  you  should." 

"  Do  not  boast,"  I  replied  in  a  tone  of  banter 
with  a  foundation  of  truth  to  it  similar  to  the 
one  he  affected.  "It  is  a  long  time  since  you 
passed  as  a  man  of  the  world." 

"  Big  words  !  "  he  said  still  gaily.  "  I  am  off. 
Don't  talk  too  much  ill  of  your  friend  Jacques, 
and  do  not  monopolize  her  too  much,"  he  added, 
turning  to  me  ;  "  she  must  do  a  little  flirting  to 
be  a  success  with  the  men." 

He  went  away  with  the  renewed  desire,  of 
which  he  had  spoken  to  me,  shining  in  his  eyes. 
Camille  had  bowed  as  he  went  without  speaking, 
but  with  a  smile  in  which  I,  who  knew  her  so  well, 
could  read  so  much  suffering  and  disgust.  She 
fpjmed  herself  nervously,  while  I  looked  at  her 
with  an  emotion  which  I  did  not  endeavour  to 
conceal.  We  were  in  our  out-of-the-way  corner 
like  two  outcasts,  though  our  sorrowful  tête-à-tête 
was  very  brief  !  Senneterre  was  already  on  his 
way  towards  us  from  the  other  end  of  the  hall 


234  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

with  a  young  man  who  had  asked  to  be  introduced 
to  Camille.  Those  two  minutes  sufficed  for  us  to 
exchange  a  few  phrases  which  redoubled  my  im- 
pression of  danger.  It  had  continually  increased 
ever  since  I  had  entered  the  house. 

"  So  you  are  come,"  the  actress  said,  "  thank 
you  ;  "  and  in  a  suppHcating  tone  she  added  : 
"  Do  not  leave  me  this  evening,  if  you  love  me  a 
Uttle." 

"  Don't  you  feel  well  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  have  presumed  too  much  upon  my  strength," 
she  replied.  "  I  was  quite  weU  up  to  the  moment 
I  was  presented  to  this  woman  and  heard  her 
voice.  Oh  !  that  voice  !  Then  Jacques  came  in, 
and  I  felt  ill.  "Look,  he  is  going  to  her.  They 
are  talking,  and  are  alone.  Go  and  tell  him  that 
he  must  not  trample  too  much  upon  my  heart. 
I  am  exhausted,  and  can  bear  no  more." 

She  pronounced  these  last  few  words  hesita- 
tingly, and  forced  herself  to  smile,  a  conv^ulsive 
smile  Uke  a  nervous  tremor.  I  do  not  think  that 
I  have  ever  seen  her  so  beautiful.  The  absence 
of  jewels  in  the  midst  of  these  well-diessed  women 
and  the  simphcity  of  her  toilette  in  these  luxurious 
surroundings  gave  her  something  Hke  a  tragic 
character.  I  had  no  time  to  reply,  for  the  pro- 
fessional "  beater  "  was  there  with  his  stereotyped 
phrase — 

"  Mademoiselle,  allow  me  to  present  to  you  my 
young  friend,  Roland  de  Brèves,  one  of  your  most 
passionate  admirers." 

"  With  what  selections  are  you  going  to  charm 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  235 

us  v/ith  this  evening,  mademoiselle  ?  "  the  young 
noodle  asked  Camille,  who  was  still  vibrating  with 
emotion.  "It  is  rare  good  fortune  to  hear  you 
in  society  ;  Madam  de  Bonnivet  will  make  many 
people  jealous." 

"  Really  there  is  no  occasion  for  it,  sir,"  Camille 
replied,  and  to  correct  his  impertinence  added  :  "  I 
shall  give  a  scene  from  La  Duchesse  Blue 
with  Bressoré,  and  then  three  or  four  fragments. 
Besides,  your  curiosity  will  soon  be  satisfied,  for 
I  can  see  Bressoré  coming.  He  was  acting  this 
evening  in  the  new  play,  but  he  has  got  away 
early.     What  luck  !  " 

"  What  good  fortune  for  us,"  her  questioner 
said,   "  who  will  hear  you  all  the  sooner  !  " 

"  No,"  she  bmtaUy  said,  "  for  me  to  be  able 
to  go  to  bed  all  the  sooner." 

She  turned  her  back  on  the  young  man,  who 
was  disconcerted  by  the  harshness  of  this  strange 
reply,  to  exchange  a  few  equally  amiable  words 
with  another  gentleman  who  greeted  her.  The 
insolence  of  the  phrases  she  uttered,  she  who  was 
usually  so  gracious,  proved  quite  well  that  she 
was  hardly  mistress  of  herself.  Of  what  an  out- 
burst she  would  be  capable  if  Madam  de  Bonnivet, 
as  her  attitude  towards  Jacques  at  that  moment 
made  me  fear,  gave  too  bold  a  display  of  coquetry. 
My  anxiety  was  suddenly  borne  to  its  highest 
pitch.  I  understood  that  in  insisting  upon 
Camille  figuring  at  this  party,  the  cruel  woman 
had  not  only  proposed  to  put  her  husband's  sus- 
picions at  rest  for  ever.     For  that  she  relied  upon 


216  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

other  weapons.  The  dominant  trait  of  her  im- 
placable nature  was  vanity,  and  this  vanity  wished 
to  have  the  actress  at  her  mercy,  to  revenge  herself 
for  the  two  humiliations  she  could  not  forget — 
the  insulting  heroism  at  the  rooms,  and  the  return 
of  the  bill  for  the  bracelet  with  the  receipt  from 
the  priest  of  Saint  François  Xaviers. 

Wounded  in  her  most  secret  susceptibilities, 
she  had  promised  herself  that  for  two  or  three 
hours  she  would  keep  her  rival,  who  was  then  in 
her  employ,  at  her  house,  to  inflame  her  again  and 
again  with  the  most  poignant  and  powerless 
jealousy,  and  leave  herself  free  to  pardon  her  after 
the  punishment  and  forget  her,  and  also  the  man  of 
letters  whom  she  had  taken  from  the  actress.  He 
had  already  ceased  to  interest  her,  now  that  he  no 
longer  represented  another  women  whose  happi- 
ness she  wished  to  steal.  She  would  soon  give 
proof  of  it,  and  also  that  the  fop  was  bragging 
when  he  thought  that  he  had  awakened  her  to 
the  pleasure  of  love.  In  spite  of  so  many  and 
such  disturbing  emotions,  she  had  left  his  arms  as 
insensible,  as  far  off  as  ever  that  total  ravishment 
by  person  which  metamorphoses  a  coquette  into 
a  slave  and  enslaves  her  to  the  man  who  has 
initiated  her  into  this  complete  intoxication.  She 
acted,  however,  during  this  evening  as  if  she  had 
loved  Jacques.  The  desire  of  torturing  the 
woman  by  whom  she  had  been  so  strangely  saved 
and  wounded  was  strong  enough  in  her  blasé 
heart  to  equal  physical  pleasure.  I  gained  this 
evidence  upon  the  spot  by  watching  her  in  the 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  237 

distance  talking,  while  I  was  making  my  way  to- 
wards the  spot  where  she  was  laughing  with 
Jacques,  though  my  progress  was  interrupted  at 
intervals  by  Machault,  further  on  by  Mirant,  and 
then  by  Bonnivet. 

The  first  of  the  three  said  to  me  :  "  I  have  not 
seen  you  at  the  school  of  arms  lately.  You 
missed  the  ItaUan  fencer,  San  Giobbe.  He  is 
really  wonderful." 

"  You  did  not  tell  me  the  other  day,"  the  second 
said,  "  that  you  were  painting  Camille  Favier's 
portrait.  It  is  very  underhand  of  you  to  treat 
your  old  master  in  that  way  !  " 

''  Ah  well,  M.  La  Croix,"  Bonnivet  asked,  "  are 
you  going  to  hang  anything  at  the  next  exhibi- 
tion ?  " 

I  felt  inclined  to  answer  the  incorrigible  fencer  : 
"It  is  not  a  question  of  assaults,  parade  and 
laughable  combats  ;  do  you  not  see  that  there  is 
a  prospect  of  a  real  duel,  actual  sword  thrusts, 
and  the  sacrifice  of  some  one's  life  ?  "  To  my 
dear  master  I  felt  inclined  to  say  :  "I  shall  not 
make  you  seU  a  picture  more,  shall  I  ?  Why  play 
the  part  with  me  of  a  protector  who  is  interested 
in  the  work  of  one  of  his  pupils  ?  Spare  me  this 
comedy,  and  let  me  try  to  prevent  a  catastrophe." 
To  the  husband  I  would  like  to  have  said  :  "11 
you  had  watched  over  your  wife  more  carefully 
in  the  beginning  she  would  not  be  what  she  is, 
and  this  drama  would  not  be  enacted  in  your 
drawing-room."  In  place  of  those  repHes,  in  each 
case  I  uttered  a  few  vain,  untruthful  words.     My 


338  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

desire  was  to  reach  Jacques  soon  enough  at  least  ' 
to  prevent  him  being  in  the  vicinity  of  Madam  de 
Bonnivet  while  the  acting  was  going  on.  Perhaps 
I  should  succeed,  as  I  was  only  a  couple  of  paces 
away  from  him,  when  Queen  Anne,  as  if  she  had 
guessed  that  I  was  this  time  bearing  a  message 
from  her  rival  and  should  deliver  it,  decided  to 
call  me,  and  said  in  a  tone  of  imperceptible  raillery — 

"  Let  me  present  you  to  the  woman  in  Paris 
who  knows  most  about  the  primitive  Italians 
about  whom  you  were  talking  to  me  the  other 
evening." 

"  Really,  sir,"  the  person  to  whom  I  was  to  be 
thus  linked,  an  insupportable  blue  stocking,  whose 
name,  if  my  memory  does  not  deceive  me,  was 
Madam  de  Sermoise,  said,  "  do  you  admire  those 
idealist  masters  who  are  so  little  appreciated  in 
our  days  of  gross  realism  ?  But  we  shall  return 
to  them,  and  to  a  noble  and  lofty  art.  You  have 
been  to  Pisa,  of  course,  to  Sienna,  to  San  Gemi- 
gorano  and  Perugia  ?  " 

0  sweet  little  red  and  golden  towns  of  lovely 
green  Tuscany,  which  indent  with  your  towers  the 
heights  of  the  slopes  planted  with  vines  and  oUves  ! 

0  generous  artists  with  whom  I  lived  so  long,  and 
whose  visions  are  to  me  still  my  soul's  daily  bread  ! 
Pardon  me  if  I  blasphemed  your  memory  and 
your  cult  in  replying  as  I  did  to  the  odious  pedant. 

1  declared  to  her  that  her  hostess  was  making  fun 
of  her.  I  told  her  that  I  was  a  member  of  the 
grotesquely  modern  school  of  art.  But  my  indig- 
nation did  not  last.     Madam  de  Bonnivet  had 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESb  239 

just  asked  Camille  Favier  and  Bressoré  to  begin. 
She  gave  the  signal  for  the  guests  to  take  their 
seats  before  the  space  reserved  for  the  two  actors 
who  were  to  play  ;  and  she  made  Jacques  Molan 
sit  by  her  side,  sajàng  loud  enough  for  me  to  hear — 
"  Every  honour  shall  be  shown  to  the  author  !  " 
Then  followed  a  few  moments  of  general  dis- 
turbance of  couches  and  chairs,  the  occupation  of 
the  seats  by  the  women,  leaving  almost  all  the 
men  to  stand,  and  the  gradual  establishment  of 
silence.  In  the  midst  of  the  last  of  the  whispering 
came  the  sudden  sound  of  the  voices  of  the  two 
performers,  the  dialogue,  and  the  discreet  ap- 
plause of  the  audience  of  people  of  leisure  ;  but  I 
hardly  noticed  the  details  so  did  my  heart  beat, 
and  does  still  to-day,  at  the  recollection  of  that 
long-past  hour. 

Knowing  as  I  did  the  minutest  expressions  of 
Camille's  mobile  face,  the  slightest  shades  of  her 
gestures,  the  most  tenuous  inflections  of  her  voice, 
I  had  realized  from  the  first  words  of  the  scene 
that  she  had  lost  control  of  herself.  Madam  de 
Bonnivet  had  seen  it  too.  She  affected,  while 
bowing  her  head  at  the  fine  points  and  being  the 
first  to  applaud,  to  lean  towards  Jacques  a  little 
too  far,  to  speak  to  him  in  low  tones,  and  render 
him  that  public  homage  which  v/as  the  simple 
politeness  of  an  admirer  of  the  fashionable  author  ! 
But  to  Camille,  the  wronged  and  desperate  mis- 
tress, the  insolence  of  this  attitude  was  too  atro- 
cious, and  it  was  impossible  for  the  actress  to  bear 
it   without    taking   her    revenge.     I    beheved    at 


240  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

first  that  she  would  try  to  humiliate  her  formidable 
rival  by  her  success,  so  much  eloquence  and  passion 
did  she  display  in  the  short  scene  she  was  acting. 

After  that  was  ended,  when  she  was  asked  to 
recite  one  or  two  pieces,  I  thought  she  would 
restrict  her  vengeance  to  sharing  a  Httle  of  her 
success  with  two  of  Jacques'  colleagues,  of  whom 
he  is  jealous,  unless  she  chose  these  two  poems 
because  in  reciting  them  she  was  also  solacing 
her  own  poor  deserted  heart.  One  of  these  poems 
was  by  René  Vincy,  and  the  other  was  an  unpub- 
Hshed  sonnet  by  Claude  Lâcher  which  I  had  copied 
for  her.  Dear  Claude  !  How  beautiful  Camille 
was  while  she  recited  this  elegy  which  had  for  me 
so  many  moving  souvenirs  of  my  dead  friend's 
sorrow.  She  recited  one  Or  two  other  pieces,  and 
then  quickly  and  in  a  joking  way  which  reassured 
me  for  a  second,  she  began  to  give  those  imitations 
which  are  always  ignoble  and  sometimes  vulgar. 
The  divine  Julia  Bartet,  the  suffering  and  finely 
vibrating  Tanagra  in  Antigone,  the  supple  and 
poignant  Réjane  in  Germinie  Lacerteux,  the  pathe- 
tic Jane  Hading  in  Sapho,  the  sprightly  Jeanne 
Granier  and  the  tragic  Mathe  Brandès  were  in 
turn  the  pretext  for  a  mimicry  which  testified  to 
a  study  of  the  art  of  these  famous  artists  so  pro- 
found as  to  be  almost  a  science,  and  to  that  mon- 
kejdsh  frolic  of  which  Molan  had  spoken,  till^having 
announced  Sarah  Bemharat  in  Phèdre,  a  shiver 
went  through  my  whole  frame. 

She  began  and  I  suddenly  recalled  Advienne 
Lecouvreur  and  the  scene  in  which  the  actress. 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  241 

seeing  Maurice  de  Saxe,  whom  she  loved,  flirting 
with  the  Duchess  de  Bouillon  during  a  drawing- 
room  performance,  recited  those  same  lines  of 
Racine's  and  ended  by  applying  to  her  in  a  loud 
voice  the  imprecation  of  the  poet's,  incestuous 
queen.  Had  Camille,  an  actress  like  Adrienne, 
in  love,  too,  like  her,  like  her  betrayed  under 
circumstances  which  I  suddenly  realized  were 
very  similar,  coolly  premeditated  the  same  ven- 
geance ?  Or  did  the  excess  of  her  anger  inspire 
her  all  at  once  with  this  manner  of  outraging  her 
unworthy  lover  and  his  mistress  ?  I  could  dis- 
tinctly see  now  upon  her  face  a  terrible  intention, 
and  I  listened  to  her  with  my  eyes  fixed  upon 
Jacques  as  she  ut<tered  that  admirable  line — 

"The    heart  is    full    of   sighs    it    has    not    uttered." 

But  her  overpowering  emotion  already  pre- 
vented from  imitating  the  accent  of  the  admirable 
Sarah.  She  pronounced  in  her  own  way  and  on 
her  own  behalf  the  poet's  lines,  and  advanced  to 
the  edge  of  the  little  stage  with  the  denunciatory 
gesture  which  is  in  Adrienne  Lecoiwreur.  Her 
arms  were  pointed  towards  Madam  de  Bonnivet. 
She  darted  at  her  enemy  a  look  of  mad  jealousy 
as  she  uttered  the  irreparable  words — 

"  I  know  my  wickedness  Œnone,  and  am  not 
one  of  those  bold  women  who,  enjoying  in  crime 
a  shameful  peace,  have  learned  to  keep  an  unblush- 
ing face." 


CHAPTER    X 

I  HAVE  often  seen  Adrienne  Lecouvreur  acted, 
since  that  evening  whose  events  I  am  recall- 
ing, with  a  tremor  of  the  heart  simply  at  the 
remembrance  of  the  anguish  I  felt  while  Camille 
was  performing  this  mad  action.  I  have  always 
noticed  that  the  audience  are  gripped  by  this 
scene.  As  regards  myself,  both  before  and  after 
the  performance  by  Camille  upon  the  improvised 
stage  at  Bonnivet's  house,  this  scene  has  always 
moved  me  so  that  I  found  the  action  indicated  by 
the  book  quite  natural — I  had  the  curiosity  to 
consult  it.  Adrienne  continues  to  advance  to- 
wards the  princess,  to  whom  she  points  with  her 
finger,  remaining  some  time  in  this  attitude,  while 
the  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  have  followed  her 
movements  rise  as  if  in  affright.  It  was  without 
any  doubt  a  similar  effect  on  the  audience  of  terror, 
for  ever  dishonouring  to  her  rival,  that  the  des- 
pised mistress  had,  in  a  flash  of  blind  passion, 
resolved  to  produce  at  the  risk  of  the  most  terrible 
consequences. 

I  awaited  this  terrible  effect  with  as  frightful  a 
certainty   as  if  I  could   see   in  Camille's  hand   a 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  243 

loaded  weapon  pointed  at  Madam  de  Bonnivet. 
To-day,  when  my  mind  goes  back  to  those  moments 
in  which  my  heart  leapt  with  apprehension,  I  cannot 
help  smiling.  Every  one  of  the  audience  without 
doubt  knew  Adrienne  Lecouvreur  if  not  like  I 
did,  at  least  well  enough  to  recall  the  situation 
which  was  so  dramatic  as  to  be  easily  intelligible. 
Every  one  had  trembled  at  the  Theatre  Français 
when  they  saw  Sarah  Bernhardt  or  Bartet  advance 
towards  the  Princess  de  Bouillon  as  CamiUe  ad- 
vanced towards  Madam  de  Bonnivet.  But,  except 
those  who  were  directly  interested  in  this  scene, 
not  one  of  the  audience  appeared  to  understand 
the  young  actress'  sinister  intention. 

No  one,  I  am  certain,  instituted,  between  the 
scene  being  enacted  before  them  at  that  moment 
and  the  one  they  had  seen  acted  ten  or  twenty 
times  at  the  theatre,  a  comparison  which  would 
have  been  a  revelation.  The  actress  herself,  stupe- 
fied at  what  she  had  dared  to  do  and  the  results, 
mechanically  continued  the  tirade  as  if  in  a  dream. 
Automatically,  too,  the  tones  of  Sarah  Bernhardt 
came  back  to  her  as  she  concluded.  She  stopped 
amid  a  most  flattering  murmur  from  all  sides,  the 
discreet  applause  of  the  fashionable  before  a 
wonderful  feat  marvellously  executed.  One  could 
hear  such  phrases  as  :  "  Very  Ufe-like  !  Shutting 
your  eyes  you  would  think  you  were  listening  to 
Sarah  !  How  gifted  the  Httle  one  is  !  It  is  not 
given  to  every  one  to  possess  talent  like  that  !  " 

Madam  de  Bonnivet,  who  had  been  the  first  to 
clap,  had  got  up  and  gone  to  Camille,  to  whom  she 


244  THE  BLUE  DT  If  HESS 

said  with  a  smile,  the  amiabihty  of  which  was 
her  crowning  insolence — 

"  Exquisite,  mademoiselle,  exquisite.  I  am 
very  grateful  to  you.  Was  it  not  exquisite,  Molan  ? 
Will  you  give  Mademoiselle  Favier  your  arm  and 
take  her  to  the  buffet  ?  " 

Really  I  am  not  suspected  of  sympathy  for  the 
audacious  woman  whose  abominable  coquetry 
had  exasperated  the  poor  actress  to  the  extent 
of  this  astounding  insult.  But  I  must  do  her  the 
justice  to  admit  that  she  had  really  a  majestic  way 
of  thus  bringing  to  naught  Camille's  justice.  I 
distinctly  heard  her  voice  pronounce  the  phrase 
in  spite  of  the  hum  of  conversation  and  the  noise 
of  the  moving  of  chairs  and  couches,  and  I  saw 
Camille  look  at  her  with  a  somnambulist's  look,  and 
also  give  her  arm  to  Jacques  in  quite  a  passive  and 
subdued  way.  Her  astonishment  at  daring  what 
she  had  dared  and  at  nothing  happening  had  left 
her  incapable  of  reply,  feeling  or  thought.  She 
was  like  a  murderess  who  had  fired  at  her  victim 
and  seen  the  bullet  rebound  from  his  forehead, 
without  even  infhcting  a  scratch.  She  had  not, 
nor  had  I,  a  mind  sufficiently  disengaged  to  per- 
ceive in  what  had  taken  place  a  proof  among  a 
thousand  that  an  irreducible  difference  separates 
the  life  presented  upon  the  stage  from  the  Hfe 
which  is  really  lived.  She  was  the  \-ictim  of  an 
attack  of  nerves  which  first  showed  itself  in  this 
astonishment,  or  rather  bewilderment,  and  almost 
immediately  afterwards  by  a  fit  of  half  convulsive 
laughter  which  wounded  me  severely. 


THE  BUTE  DUfHESS  245 

I  gladly  left  the  spot  where  she  was  with  Jacques 
surrounded  by  men  who  knew  her  and  were  pajdng 
her  compliments.  I  came  across  Bonnivet  directly. 
His  forehead  was  red,  its  veins  swoUen,  his  eyes 
were  clear  and  at  the  same  time  flaming,  and  these 
things  with  the  tremors  through  his  whole  body 
suddenly  caused  the  fear  I  had  felt  a  few  minutes 
before  to  return  to  me.  Even  if  to  the  rest  of  the 
audience  the  insult  hurled  in  the  fashionable  lady's 
face  by  the  actress  had  passed  unnoticed,  a  cir- 
cumstance which  was  explained  by  the  fact  that 
they  had  no  notion  of  Jacques'  position  between 
his  two  mistresses,  the  husband  himself  had  per- 
ceived this  insult,  and  it  required  all  his  self-control 
to  swallow  the  affront  as  he  had  done.  He  Ustened, 
or  pretended  to  listen,  to  Senneterre,  whose  volu- 
bility showed  that  he,  too,  had  understood  the 
significance  of  the  scene  acted  by  Camille,  and 
that  he  was  trembling  with  fear  lest  Bonnivet  also 
understood.  The  husband  was  automatically 
curhng  his  moustache  with  his  right  hand,  while 
I  felt  sure  he  was  digging  the  nails  of  his  left,  which 
was  hidden,  into  his  chest. 

I  was  not  the  only  one  to  feel  that  this  man 
was  in  a  fury,  nor  to  notice  his  forehead,  eyes  and 
gestures,  which  displayed  the  obvious  signs,  to 
a  painter,  of  a  formidable  moral  tempest.  I  saw 
the  group  of  gentlemen  near  which  I  was  dissolve 
to  make  room  for  Madam  de  Bonnivet,  who  was 
approaching  her  husband.  In  the  same  way  that  a 
httle  while  before  she  had  found  a  smile  of  supreme 
contempt,    with   which   to    congratulate   Camille 


246  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

Favier  and  reply  to  the  insult  of  an  atrocious 
allusion  by  the  insult  of  an  implacable  indifference, 
now  she  found  a  tender  and  affectionate  smile  to 
reply  to  her  husband's  suddenly  aggravated  sus- 
picions. She  brought  him  in  her  gracious  and 
affectionate  smile  an  indisputable  proof  of  her 
clear  conscience.  The  sensation  of  her  presence 
was  necessary  to  this  man  at  the  moment  and  she 
had  realized  this,  and  also  that  the  physical  reahty 
of  her  voice,  of  her  look,  of  her  breath,  the  evidence, 
too,  of  her  tranquilHty  would  impose  upon  her 
jealous  husband  a  suggestion  of  calmness.  Serenely 
radiant  in  her  sumptuous  white  toilette,  her  eyes 
clear  and  gay,  a  half  smile  upon  her  pretty  mouth, 
and  fanning  her  lovely  face  with  a  gentle  little 
motion  which  hardly  disturbed  the  golden  hair 
upon  her  brow,  she  walked  towards  him,  hypnotiz- 
ing him  with  her  look.  I  could  see  at  her  approach 
the  unhappy  man's  face  relax,  while  Bressoré, 
whom  I  knew,  took  my  arm  and  whispered  in  my 
ear — 

"  How  smart  she  is  !  But,  La  Croix,  as  you  are 
a  friend  of  Favier' s,  I  hope  you  wiU  make  her 
understand  that  her  way  of  conducting  herself  this 
evening  is  very  bad  for  me  and  for  all  of  us  !  Why 
this  is  a  house  where  we  are  received  like  swells, 
and  yet  because  she  is  jealous  of  the  mistress  of 
the  house  and  Molan,  she  behaves  like  a  fool  and 
treats  her  as  Adrienne  Lecouvreur  did  !  I  saw  it 
coming  and  I  saw  it  pass,  and  now  I  have  not  a 
dry  stitch  of  clothing  on  me.  It  did  not  strike 
home,  it  is  tnie,  but  it  might  have  done  so.     Biit 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  247 

then  if  the  audience  did  not  understand,  the  hus- 
band and  wife  did.  I  tell  you  this  house  is  closed 
to  us  for  the  future.  They  have  had  their  fill  of 
noting  at  home  by  this  time.  Frankly,  put  your- 
self in  their  place,  it  would  not  do  at  all,  would  it  ? 
I  am  not  more  straight-laced  than  most,  and  I  have 
my  fancies,  but  I  always  behave  in  a  gentlemanly 
way." 

The  comic  plaint  of  the  old  actor,  who  was 
trembling  for  his  social  status,  put  a  note  of  buf- 
foonery into  the  adventure.  I  soothed  the  old 
man  to  the  best  of  my  ability,  assuring  him  that 
he  was  mistaken,  though  without  hope  of  con- 
vincing him.  What  a  fine  picture  he  would 
have  made,  with  his  mobile  blue  eyes  looking  out 
piercingly  from  his  clean-shaven  face,  over  which 
seemed  to  float  an  everlasting  grimace  !  He  had 
so  much  and  such  astounding  good  fortune  that 
his  glance  upon  the  real  bad  side  of  Ufe  was  Hke 
that  of  a  diplomat.  His  countless  mistresses  had 
so  well  instructed  him  in  the  particulars  of  Parisian 
fashionable  and  gay  Ufe  that  he  was  no  longer  the 
dupe  of  any  one  or  anything.  He  nodded  his 
head  incredulously  at  my  protests  and  replied  to 
me  with  the  inherent  famiharity  of  his  profession, 
in  spite  of  the  principles  of  breeding  he  had  just 
professed  with  such  solemnity. 

"  You  know,  my  dear  fellow,  La  Croix,  I  am 
a  very  good  boy  and  I  hke  to  try  and  give  pleasure 
by  appearing  to  believe  what  I  am  told,  but  I  can't 
swallow  that  !  " 

Our  little  conversation  had  taken  us,  the  actor 


248  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

and  myself,  into  a  comer  of  the  drawing-room 
near  the  hall  door,  which  was  open.  I  judged 
that  poor  Camille  would  not  be  long  in  leaving, 
and  that  the  best  thing  would  be  for  me  to  wait 
for  her  outside  and  speak  to  her  then  so  that 
Bonnivet's  eyes  would  not  be  fixed  upon  us  during 
our  talk.  If  no  unfortunate  accident  happened 
I  felt  sure  that  now  Queen  Anne  would  arrange 
to  definitely  withdraw  from  the  intrigue.  I  was 
quite  sure,  too,  that  Jacques  would  not  be  the 
one  to  end  the  affair.  I  knew  his  self-control. 
He  would  not  betray  himself.  I  knew  that  out- 
bursts Uke  Camille's  are  at  once  followed  by  pros- 
tration, and  I  felt  sure  that  she  had  allowed  herself 
to  be  taken  to  the  buffet  like  a  cowed  animal. 
Senneterre  and  Bressore,  the  other  two  witnesses 
who  had  understood  all  the  secrets  of  this  scene, 
were  not  the  men  to  let  their  perspicacity  be 
apparent.  One  loved  Madam  de  Bonnivet  too 
sincerely,  the  other  was  too  preoccupied  in  playing 
his  part  as  the  correct  artist.  Only  I  myself  was 
likely  by  my  nervousness  to  betray  my  knowledge. 
I  therefore  glided  between  two  groups  towards 
the  staircase,  and  as  I  was  doing  so  felt  my  hand 
seized.  It  was  Molan,  who  said  in  a  jerky  voice — 
"  Let  us  leave  together.     I  \\ant  to  speak  to 

you." 

"  I  am  going  at  once,"  I  replied. 
"  So  am  I  ;   the  coast  is  clear,  let  us  be  off." 
We    went   downstairs    without   exchanging    a 
word.     We  put  on  our  coats  in  silence  under  the 
critical  eyes  of  the  footmen.     It  was  not  till  we 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  249 

reached  the  street  that  Jacques  said  to  me,  while 
he  clutched  my  arm  with  a  force  which  proved 
his  anger — 

"  Were  you  present  at  the  scene  ?  Did  you 
see  what  that  infamous  actress  dared  to  do  to 
me  ?  " 

"  I  saw  that  she  had  her  revenge,"  I  told  him. 
"  Frankly,  you  well  deserved  it,  both  you  and 
Madam  de  Bonnivet.  But  still  it  had  no  con- 
sequences and  no  one  perceived  her  intentions." 

"  No  one  ?  Did  you  take  Madam  de  Bonnivet 
for  a  fool,  and  her  husband  too  ?  Do  you  think 
he  did  not  see  through  it  all  ?  As  Camille  knew, 
too,  his  jealous  disposition  after  the  risk  she  had 
seen  me  run,  it  was  infamous,  I  tell  you,  it  was 
abominable.  But  I  will  teach  her  that  I  am  not 
to  be  laughed  at  like  that,"  he  went  on  with 
increasing  violence.  As  he  uttered  this  threat 
he  turned  back  towards  the  house  we  had  just  left, 
and  I  had  to  hold  him  back  by  the  arm  while  I 
said — 

"  Surely  you  are  not  going  back  there  to  make 
a  scene  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  but  I  know  the  driver  of  the 
carriage  she  uses  for  her  evening  engagements, 
I  engaged  him  regularly  for  her.  I  have  always 
been  so  good  to  her  !  I  will  stop  her  carriage. 
I  will  punish  her  here  in  the  street.  It  is  her 
proper  place,  and  I  will  tell  her  so." 

"  You  will  not  do  that,"  I  interrupted  him 
taking  up  a  position  in  front  of  him  and  speaking 
in  a  low  voicef    Now  I  was  afraid  of  the  curiosity 


250  THE  BT.UE  DUCHESS 

of  the  drivers  who  were  sitting  on  the  boxes  of  a 
long  string  of  carriages. 

"  I  will  do  it,"  he  replied,  beside  himself,  and 
just  at  that  moment  ihe  porter  called  a  carriage 
and  we  heard  a  name  which  caused  Molan  to 
burst  out  into  a  laugh,  that#of  Camille  herself. 

"  I  beg  of  you,"  I  said  to  the  madman,  "  if  you 
have  no  regard  for  Camille  think  of  Madam  de 
Bonnivet  !  " 

"  You  are  right,"  he  replied  after  a  short  silence, 
"  I  will  control  myself.  But  I  must  speak  to  her, 
I  must.  I  will  get  into  the  carriage  with  her, 
that  is  all." 

"  But  if  she  will  not  allow  it  ?  " 

"  Allow  it  !"  he  said  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoul- 
ders.    "  You  shall  see." 

A  carriage  had  left  the  rank  while  we  were 
talking,  a  shabby  hired  brougham.  Its  common- 
ness contrasted  strangely  with  the  other  vehicles 
which  were  waiting  in  the  long  street.  The  time 
this  carriage  took  to  enter  beneath  the  archway 
and  emerge  again  from  it  seemed  to  me  intermin- 
able. If  my  companion  allowed  himself  to  be 
disrespectful  to  Camille  I  had  made  up  my  mind 
what  to  do. 

At  last  the  carriage  reappeared  and  a  woman's 
form  was  visible  through  the  window,  wrapped 
in  a  cloak  with  a  high  collar  which  I  recognized 
only  too  well.  It  was  CamiUe.  Jacques  called 
out  to  the  driver,  who  recognized  him,  and  was  on 
the  point  of  pulling  up  when  the  window  was  let 
down  and  we  could  hear  the  actress  call  out  : 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  25Î 

"  23,  Rue  Lincoln,  don't  you  hear  me  ?  Do  you 
take  your  orders  from  that  gentleman  ?  "  Turning 
to  me  she  said  :  "  Vincent,  if  you  do  not  prevent 
that  individual,"  and  she  pointed  to  Jacques» 
"  from  trying  to  get  into  my  carriage  I  shall  call 
the  poHce."  The  silhouettes  of  two  policemen 
appeared  quite  black  in  the  Hght  of  the  lamps, 
and  though  the  dicdogue  had  been  short  the  sound 
of  the  voices  had  made  some  of  the  men  sitting 
on  the  boxes  of  the  other  carriages  lean  forward. 
In  the  face  of  this  threat  Jacques  dare  not  turn 
the  handle  of  the  carriage  door  on  which  he  had 
his  hand.  He  stepped  back  and  the  carriage  drove 
away  while  Camille' s  voice  repeated  in  a  tone  I 
shall  never  forget — 

"23,   the  Rue  Lincoln,  as    fast    as  you    can 

go- 

"  Ah,  well  !"  I  said  to  Jacques  after  a  short 
silence,  as  he  was  standing  motionless  upon  the 
pavement. 

"  Ah,  well  !  She  guessed  what  was  waiting 
for  her,"  he  replied  sharply,  "  and  she  fled.  Make 
your  mind  easy,  the  opportunity  is  only  put  off, 
not  lost  entirely.  But  why  can  she  be  going  to 
23,  Rue  Lincoln  ?  " 

"It  is  an  address  she  gave  haphazard,"  I  said, 
"  to  make  you  jealous  and  make  you  think  she 
was  going  to  keep  an  appointment.  She  will  give 
another  order  to  her  driver  as  soon  as  she  is  round 
the  comer." 

"  Still  w^e  can  go  there  and  see  for  ourselves," 
he  replied.      '  If  she  has  already  taken  a  lover 


252  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

and  allowed  herself  to  play  the  trick  she  has  done 
on  me,  you  must  admit  that  she  is  a  hussy." 

"  No,"  I  rephed,  "  only  an  unfortunate  child 
whom  you  have  ill-treated  and  driven  mad.  If 
she  has  taken  a  lover,  that  will  only  prove  that 
she  is  the  victim  of  one  of  those  despairs  which 
women  have,  when  everything  seems  dark.  Such 
an  action  sometimes  lead  to  smcide  though  it  has 
not  done  so  in  her  case,  for  she  is  too  proud." 

We  got  into  a  passing  cab  as  we  were  talking, 
and  in  our  turn  started  off  in  the  direction  of  the 
Rue  Lincoln.  My  only  idea  now  was  to  find  out 
whether  the  unkindness  of  which  she  had  been  a 
victim  had  not  projected  her  into  some  horrible 
calling.  The  phrases  she  had  uttered  to  me  during 
my  first  visit  to  her  modest  abode  in  the  Rue  de  la 
Barouillère,  on  the  temptations  of  luxury  for  her 
came  back  to  my  mind,  and  I  listened  to  Jacques 
the  philosopher  once  more  in  a  sort  of  stupor.' 
Libertines  of  his  character  never  accept,  without 
the  most  sincere  indignation,  the  appointment 
of  a  substitute  by  the  mistress  they  have  most 
coldly  betrayed.  Still  less  do  they  allow  any  one 
to  see  their  humiliated  spite.  Jacques  had  ceased 
his  complaints  in  order  to  converse  on  ideas,  and 
he  did  so  with  his  usual  lucidity.  It  is  the  gift  of 
intelhgences  trained  to  speculate  to  work  in  a 
mechanical  way  through  every  shock.  Molan,  I 
believe,  will  dictate  copy,  and  good  copy  too,  in 
liis  death  agony  ! 

When  our  cab  reached  the  Rue  Lincoln  Jacques 
peered  out  with  a  more  passionate  nervousness 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  253 

than  suited  his  dandyism  to  see  if  there  was  any 
carriage  standing  in  that  short  street.  He  saw 
the  hght  of  two  lamps.  Our  cab  approached  and 
we  could  see  Camille's  carriage  standing  before  a 
small  house  the  number  of  which  was  23.  The 
carriage  was  empty  and  the  driver  had  got  off  the 
box  to  light  his  pipe  at  one  of  the  lamps. 

"  The  lady  told  me  not  to  wait,"  he  replied  to 
the  question  Jacques  asked  him,  accompanied  as 
it  was  by  a  tip  of  louis  just  as  the  heroes  of  the 
old  school  of  romance  used  to  do.  My  companion's 
anxiety  was  very  great  at  this  reply,  though  less 
than  mine.  We  stood  for  a  minute  looking  at 
one  another. 

"  We  will  find  out,"  he  said  and  called  to  the 
driver  to  stop  at  the  nearest  café  ;  "we  will  con- 
sult the  Bulletin,  and  if  that  is  not  successful  we 
will  go  to  the  club  and  look  at  the  Tout  Paris. 
We  shall  then  know  from  whom  mademoiselle 
seeks  consolation,  which  you  must  admit  she  has 
done  very  rapidly  and  I  expect  even  before  her 
misfortunes.  It  is  not  very  flattering  for  masculine 
love,  but  every  time  a  man  has  any  remorse  at 
deceiving  a  woman,  he  can  assert  that  he  is  a  dupe 
and  that  she  had  already  begun." 

As  he  saitl  this  he  jumped  from  the  cab  before 
it  had  quite  stopped,  ahghted  on  the  pavement 
in  the  Rue  François  I,  and  entered  a  café  the  only 
occupant  of  which  was  a  waiter  asleep  on  a  seat. 
Without  waking  him  Molan  picked  up  the  Bulletin 
from  the  counter,  the  cashier  being  absent  at  the 
time,  and  with  a  hand  which  trembled  a  Httle 


254  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

pointed  out  to  me  the  two  following  lines  :  Rue 
de  Lincoln,  23 — Tournade,  Louis  Ernest,  gentle- 
man." 

"  Was  I  right  ?"  he  said  with  a  grin.  He  shut 
up  the  Bulletin  and  put  it  back  on  the  counter 
adding  :  "  You  must  admit  that  I  deserved  better 
treatment." 

"  I  will  admit  nothing  till  I  am  sure  of  it,"  I 
replied,  so  deeply  distressed  by  this  fresh  happening 
that  I  trembled  all  over. 

"  Sure  of  it  ?  "  Molan  cried  with  insolent  bitter- 
ness. "  Sure  of  it  ?  What  do  you  want  ?  Per- 
haps you  would  need  to  see  them  in  the  same 
bed  ?  Then  you  would  still  doubt  !  But  I  am 
not  a  member  of  the  sect  of  the  pure-minded,  I 
beheve  that  Mademoiselle  Favier  is  the  mistress 
of  M.  Tournade,  and  I  repeat  that  in  that  case  the 
scene  which  she  made  this  evening  is  one  of  the 
most  miserable  actions  of  which  I  have  ever  heard 
tell.     I  will  be  revenged.     So  good-bye." 

He  left  me  after  these  expressions  of  hate  with- 
out any  attempt  on  my  part  to  detain  or  calm  him. 
I  felt  crushed  by  an  enormous  weight  of  sorrow. 
I  have  never  in  my  sentimental  hfe  known  that 
jealousy  which  most  books  describe,  that  agonizing, 
feverish  uneasiness  about  a  perfidy  which  one 
suspects  without  being  certain.  I  have  never 
loved  without  confidence.  It  seems  to  me  that 
women  ought  to  be  scrupulous  of  deceiving  men 
who  love  them  in  that  fashion.  I  have  discovered 
that  it  is  not  so.  Should  I  commence  to  ,  for 
again  I  should  comfort  myself  in  the  same  waylove 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  255 

the  simple  reason  that  a  person  cannot  see  with 
his  eyes  full  of  tears.  In  return,  if  I  have  never 
been  jealous  in  that  uneas}^  and  suspicious  fashion, 
I  have  experienced  that  other  sorrow  which  con- 
sists of  having  in  one's  heart  something  Hke  a 
perpetually  bleeding  open  wound,  the  evidence  of 
having  been  deceived.  I  have  known  what  it  is 
to  suffer  for  entire  nights  at  the  idea  of  a  woman's 
body  being  given  up  as  a  prey  to  another  man's 
luxury.  This  horrible  oppression,  this  interrup- 
tion of  the  inmost  soul,  this  deadly  shudder  in  the 
face  of  certainty,  is,  I  believe,  the  worst  form  of 
sentimental  disorder,  and  this  suffering  I  have 
just  experienced  again  with  some  intensity  in 
reading  the  name  of  Tournade  in  the  address  book  ! 
Oh,  God  !  how  miserable  I  was  when  I  got  back  to 
my  residence  on  the  Boulevard  des  Invahdes  after 
walking  aU  the  way  to  quiet  my  nerves  !  It  was 
in  vain  that  I  told  Molan  that  I  was  not  sure 
Camille  was  the  mistress  of  the  cad  whose  impure 
face  had  been  so  repulsive  to  me  in  her  dressing- 
room  at  the  Vaudeville,  for  there  was  no  room  in 
me  for  doubt  on  the  subject.  It  was  so  simple. 
The  unhappy  child  had  lost  her  head.  Excess 
of  anger  and  sorrow  had  deranged  her,  and  in  a 
moment  of  delirium  she  had  executed  that  scheme 
of  revenge  which  would  degrade  her  for  ever. 
What  am  I  saying  ?  She  had  executed  the  plan  ! 
She  was  doing  so  even  at  the  moment  on  that  night 
when  I  saw  the  stars  shining  above  my  head 
between  the  waUs  of  the  houses.  That  hour,  these 
minutes,  those  seconds,  whose  length  I  felt,  and 


256  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

whose  flight  I  measured,  she  also  hved  and  em- 
ployed.    How  ? 

The  sensations  with  which  this  idea  blasted 
me  must  be,  I  should  think,  those  of  the  man  con- 
demned to  death  and  of  his  friends  who  love  him 
during  the  time  which  separates  his  awakening 
on  his  last  morning  and  his  execution.  He  feels  a 
desire  to  arrest  the  passage  of  time,  to  even  throw 
the  world,  and  for  the  earth  to  open,  houses  to 
fall,  and  a  miracle  to  be  accomplished.  With 
what  anxiety  he  then  feels  that  life  performs  its 
functions  in  uà  with  the  implacable  accuracy  of 
a  machine  !  All  our  moral  and  physical  agonies, 
our  revolts  and  surrenders,  have  no  more  influence 
upon  nature  than  the  flutterings  of  an  insect  in 
the  furnace  of  a  locomotive. 

"It  is  over  !     She  is  Tournade's  mistress  !  " 

Those  frightful  words,  which  I  knew  to  be  true, 
I  pronounced  despairingly  as  I  walked  along  the 
Rue  François  I,  over  the  Invalide's  Bridge,  and 
then  along  the  Avenue  de  la  Tour  Maubourg. 
Transcribing  them  now,  even  after  such  a  long 
period,  gives  me  pain  ;  but  it  is  a  dull  pain,  a  tender 
melancholy.  With  it  is  mingled  a  thoughtful 
pity,  like  that  which  I  should  feel  when  standing 
before  Camille's  tomb,  instead  of  the  bitter  nausea 
of  anger  and  disgust  which  seized  me  when  I  first 
realized  the  certainty  of  the  event.  Must  I  have, 
loved  her  without  knowing  it,  or  at  least  without 
knowing  how  much,  for  thinking  of  her  as  I  did 
to  be  such  a  penance  ! 

As  soon  as  I  reached  home,  and  l^efore  going  to 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  257 

bed,  I  wished  to  looked  at  the  two  portraits  I  had 
drawn  of  her  :  the  first  of  her  before  she  knev. 
Jacques,  the  one  I  concealed  so  carefullj/  ;  the 
second  of  the  month  previous  with  an  unfinished 
smile.  These  two  pictures  made  her  so  present 
to  me,  and  made  the  defilement  which  sullied  her 
at  that  moment  so  real,  that  I  recollect  in  the  soli- 
tude of  the  studio  uttering  real  groans,  hke  those 
of  an  animal  with  a  death  rattle  in  its  throat. 

My  grief  reUeved  itself  by  such  outbursts  that 
my  sentant  was  awakened.  I  saw  with  surprise 
this  good  fellow  enter  the  room  to  ask  if  I  were  ill 
and  needed  his  services.  It  was  a  grotesque 
incident  which  had  at  least  one  advantage,  it  put 
an  end  to  this  period  of  semi-madness.  I  should 
smile  at  this  childishness  after  so  many  months  if, 
alas,  I  did  not  find  in  it  one  more  proof  of  my 
personal  fatality,  a  sign  of  that  destiny  which  has 
always  refused  me  the  power  to  fashion  events  after 
my  own  heart.  Idolizing  Camille  as  I  did  with 
such  tenderness,  ought  I  not  to  have  told  her  so 
before  ?  Should  not  I  have  arranged  so  that  her 
first  movement,  if  she  desired  to  raise  an  impassable 
barrier  between  Jacques  and  herself,  would  have 
been  to  come  to  me  ?  Who  knows  ?  I  should  then 
have  realized  with  her  the  romance  of  which  she 
had  dreamed  and  which  she  had  failed  to  realize 
wilh  Molan  !  I  should  have  shown  su  :.h  clever- 
ness, such  passionate  tact,  such  caressing  adora- 
tion in  dressing  her  wound,  that  peihaps  one 
day  she  would  have  loved  me  !  Ah,  it  is  the  sorrow 
of  "  the  might  have  been  "  ! 


258  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

How  true  those  lines  of  the  painter  poet  Rossetti 
were  of  me,  and  how  suitable  for  my  tomb — 

"  Look  in  my  face,  my  name  is  :  Might  have  been  ! 
I  am  also  called  :  No  more,  Too  late,  Fare  thee  well." 

I  Spent  that  night  almost  without  sleep,  only  in 
the  morning  having  a  feverish  doze  during  which 
I  dreamed  a  strange  dream.  I  seemed  to  be  sitting 
at  table  during  a  big  dinner.  I  had  facing  me 
Camille  dressed  in  red  with  her  golden  hair  upon' 
her  bare  shoulders.  Near  her  was  my  unfortunate 
friend,  Claude  Larcher,  whom  I  know  is  dead,  and 
whom  I  knew  was  dead  then  at  the  time  I  seemed 
to  see  him  alive.  Although  we  were  at  table 
Claude  was  writing.  It  caused  me  infinite  anguish 
to  see  him  writing  these  lines,  holding  his  pen 
in  a  way  I  knew  only  too  well.  It  struck  me  that 
as  he  were  ill  such  an  effort  would  be  fatal.  I 
wanted  to  call  out  to  him  to  stop,  but  I  could  not 
do  so,  as  I  was  threatened  with  her  finger  by 
Camille,  in  whose  eyes  I  discerned  an  absolute  order 
not  to  say  a  word.  I  understood  at  the  same  time 
that  the  letter  written  like  this  by  Claude  was 
meant  for  me.  It  contained  advice  about  Camille, 
and  I  knew  it  was  of  such  pressing  interest  that 
waiting  was  a  punishment  which  increased  when 
the  guests  rose  from  the  table  and  I  saw  Larcher 
go  away  with  the  letter  without  giving  it  to  me. 

I  set  out  to  pursue  him  through  an  infinite  maze 
of  winding  staircases.  To  descend  them  more 
quickly  I  jumped  into  space  and  rebounded  as 
if  wings  had  raised  me  till  I  found  myself  in  a 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  259 

garden  which  I  recognized  as  being  that  of  Nohant, 
though  I  had  never  been  there.  I  observed  with 
astonishment  the  beautiful  order  of  the  beds,  in 
which  the  flowers  were  planted  so  as  to  trace  letters, 
and  in  astonishment  I  read  the  phrase  which 
Jacques  had  used  to  me  :  "She  had  already  begun." 
At  that  moment  a  burst  of  laughter  made  me  look 
round.  I  saw  Camille  with  her  hair  still  on  her 
fine  shoulders  and  very  pale  in  her  red  dress.  She 
took  to  Tournade  a  note  which  I  knew  to  be  the  one 
written  by  Claude.  The  fat  man  was  lying  in  bed, 
his  face  still  redder  than  usual,  and  he  smacked 
his  lips  together  with  the  sensuality  of  a  glutton 
who  has  an  appetizing  dish  set  before  him.  It  was 
then,  at  the  moment  when  Camille  began  to  un- 
fasten her  dress  to  get  into  bed,  that  the  grief 
became  unbearable.  I  understood  that  she  was 
about  to  give  herself  to  him  for  the  first  time.  I 
wished  to  run  to  her  and  again  the  same  fearful 
immobility  entirely  paralysed  me  and  I  awakened 
bathed  in  perspiration. 

No  sooner  had  I  awakened  from  this  painful 
sleep  than  an  idea  took  possession  of  me.  Perhaps 
this  visit  to  Tournade  on  the  previous  evening 
had  not  been  followed  by  a  irreparable  lapse  ?  Is 
it  not  an  every-day  occurrence  for  a  woman  to 
accept  an  appointment,  keep  it,  and  at  the  la'5t 
moment  be  seized  with  a  feeling  of  revolt,  defend 
her  person  with  fury  and  go  away,  having  protected 
herself  with  an  energy  as  mad  as  her  inconsistent 
conduct .  Why  had  I  not  admitted  that  hypothesis 
the  previous  evening,  and  why  did  I  admit  it  now  ? 


200  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

I  had  no  other  reason  than  this  dream.  It  was 
enough  to  make  me  get  up  hastily  at  eight  o'clock 
and  hurry  to  the  house  in  the  Rue  de  la  Barouillère. 
Happily  or  unhappily,  for  a  Uttle  uncertainty  at 
times  means  a  little  hope,  at  the  moment  I  knocked 
at  the  lodge  window  to  ask  if,  in  spite  of  the  early 
hour.  Mademoiselle  Favier  was  at  home,  I  saw  in 
the  lodge  a  servant  who  had  several  times  accom- 
panied her  to  my  studio.  This  woman  had  opened 
the  door  to  me  on  my  first  visit.  She  had  been 
present  at  Camille' s  birth,  as  I  knew,  and  was  her 
confidant.  As  soon  as  she  caught  sight  of  me  she 
ran  out  of  the  lodge  mth  a  haste  which  redoubled 
my  fears. 

**  Ah  !  M.  La  Croix,'  '  she  said  as  she  pulled  me 
towards  the  stairs  so  as  not  to  be  overheard,  "  have 
you  come  to  see  mademoiselle  ?  " 

"Has  she  returned?"  I  cried.  Suddenly  I 
reahzed  by  a  glance  at  the  servant's  anxious  face 
that  her  question  was  a  pious  fiction.  Camille 
had  not  returned.  My  exclamation  revealed  to 
my  questioner  the  fact  that  I  knew  something,  and 
she  at  once  began  to  interrogate  me.  Her  ques- 
tions served  to  inform  me. 

"  Listen,  M.  La  Croix,"  she  said  anxiously,  as 
she  clasped  her  rough  and  misshapen  servant's 
hands  which  trembled  a  little.  "  If  you  know 
where  she  is,  I  ask  you  in  the  name  of  your  mother, 
go  and  find  her.  Since  the  coachman  brought  a 
message  from  her  last  evening  that  she  would  not 
return,  madam  has  been  mad  with  grief.  I  never 
saw  her  like  it  before,  not  even  when  we  found  her 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  261 

husband  with  a  bullet  in  his  forehead.  She  does 
nothing  but  weep  and  say  to  me  :  "I  don't  want 
ever  to  see  her  again.  I  will  turn  her  out  if  she 
comes  back."  She  says  that  ;  but  if  Camille  returns 
I  am  sure  she  will  forgive  her.  Do  you  understand 
that,  M.  La  Croix  ?  A  child  Uke  her,  modest  and 
sweet,  who  never  allowed  any  one  to  approach 
her  !  We  used  to  say,  madam  and  I,  that  she 
would  marry  so  well,  Hke  that  singer  who  became  a 
marquise  !  No,  I  cannot  believe  that  she  has 
gone  astray  !  M.  La  Croix,  you  who  are  so  good, 
tell  me  what  you  know.  I  am  not  like  some  people. 
I  have  brought  her  up  since  she  was  httle,  and  it 
was  on  her  account  that  I  did  not  leave  madam 
when  the  crash  came.  But  don't  let  the  porter  see 
me  talking  to  you  for  so  long.  I  have  already 
had  some  difficulty  in  explaining  why  Camille  did 
not  come  home  last  night." 

"  iUas  !"  I  replied  without  obeying  her  request 
to  go  upstairs,  for  I  feared  the  mother's  grief  too 
much,  "  I  know  nothing  more  than  you  do,  and 
the  proof  of  that  is  that  I  came  to  inquire  after 
Mademoiselle  Favier,  who  appeared  to  me  to  be 
unw^ell  last  evening. 

"  She  is  not  at  your  rooms,  is  she  ?  "  the  woman 
asked  struck  by  my  embarrassment.  Her  sus- 
picion revealed  to  me  what  passionate  affection 
she  bore  the  little  one,  as  she  called  Camille.  The 
mother's  despair  and  the  servant's  distraction 
completed  the  breaking  of  my  heart.  Once  more  I 
reahzed  in  what  an  atmosphere  of  naïve  and  simple 
tenderness  the  poor  Blue  Duchess  had  grown  up. 


202  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

She  had  been  one  of  those  Httle  girls  whose  coming 
into  the  world  is  treated  as  a  festival,  and  the  steps 
towards  their  womanhood  are  festivals  too  : 
baptism,  birthdays,  her  first  sacrament,  and  her 
first  long  dress — and  all  that  for  the  object  of  so 
much  moving  solicitude  to  end  in  the  defilement  of 
gallantry  !  The  faithful  servant  continued  like 
a  naïve  echo  of  my  own  bitter  thoughts  :  "  No, 
she  cannot  be  with  you  or  M.  Molan,  nor  with  M. 
Fomberteau  ;  you  are  all  of  you  too  good  fellows 
to  turn  a  girl  like  her  into  a  kept  woman.  She  will 
be  that  now,  Camille,  Camille,  Camille  !  " 

Forgetting  her  own  precautions  to  prevent  the 
gossip  of  the  porter,  the  good  woman  began  to  sob. 
I  calmed  her  to  the  best  of  my  ability  by  swearing 
to  her  that  I  would  make  every  effort  to  see  Camille 
during  the  day  and  to  tell  her  the  state  into  which 
her  mother  had  been  thrown  by  her  departure. 

"  Make  her  come  back  !  "  was  the  only  answer  I 
obtained  through  her  tears  coupled  with  this 
sublime  expression  of  shameless  devotion  :  "If 
she  wants  to  have  adventures  I  will  help  her  as 
much  as  she  likes.  Tell  her  so,  only  let  her  remain 
and  live  with  us  !  " 

The  struggle  then  was  over.  The  drama  of 
passion  and  perfidy  at  which  I  had  assisted  for  the 
last  few  weeks  had  reached  its  logical  conclusion. 
My  dream  had  lied  to  me.  It  was  too  late  to  pre- 
vent that  adorable  child,  born  with  the  most  rare 
and  delicate  romance  in  her  heart  and  head,  becom- 
ing nothing  more  than  a  courtesan.  Her  pride 
itself,  that  pretty,  vibrating  pride  for  which  I  had 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  263 

k)ved  her  so,  would  hate  her  degradation.  When 
she  emerged  from  the  furious  crisis  which  had  sent 
her  to  the  bed  of  a  man  hke  Tournade,  the  con- 
tempt she  would  feel  for  herself  would  vihfy  her 
so  in  her  own  eyes  and  her  inner  nausea  would  have 
two  results  equally  frightful  to  imagine  :  either 
she  would  not  bear  her  life  a  day  longer  and  kill 
herself,  or  else  she  would  take  a  sorrowing  pride 
in  incarnating  in  herself  that  outrageous  type  of 
luxury  and  triumphant  shamelessness  which  be- 
come a  great  actress  who  is  also  a  great  courtesan. 
Wliich  of  these  two  solutions  should  a  man  prefer 
who  loved  her  as  I  did,  first  of  all  with  a  somewhat 
obscure  sentiment,  but  now  with  one  which  was  very 
full  of  misery  and  suffering  ?  Both  perspectives 
seemed  so  horrible  to  me  that  in  spite  of  the  pro- 
mise I  had  given  the  old  servant  I  made  a  fixed 
resolution  never  to  see  the  unhappy  child  again, 
and  a  wiser  one  still  of  putting  into  execution  apian 
I  had  long  pondered  over,  ever  since,  in  fact,  I  had 
begun  to  understand  my  poor  heart  :  to  go  away, 
and  return  either  to  Spain  or  Italy,  to  one  of  those 
sunny  lands  where  a  soul  wounded  to  death  can  at 
least  wrap  up  its  wound  in  soUtude,  Ught  and 
beauty. 

I  ordered  my  astor/ished  servant  to  pack  up  at 
once  for  a  long  absence,  and  I  set  to  work  to  classify 
studies  and  then  run  through  guide  books,  com- 
pelhng  myself  to  become  absorbed  in  the  hustle 
of  this  unexpected  departure.  This  new  and  mon- 
strous fact,  the  fall  of  Camille  into  Tournade 's 
arms,  had  suspended  every  other  thought  in  my 


264  THE  BTAJE  DUCHESS 

mind.  I  had  forgotten  Madam  de  Bonnivet,  the 
scene  of  the  previous  evening,  and  Molan  himself. 
It  was  therefore  hke  a  sudden  displacement  of  the 
atmosphere,  a  recall  to  an  abolished  reality,  wheii 
I  saw  the  latter  about  half-past  two  enter  the  studio. 
It  was  Molan,  however,  who  was  the  cause  of  the 
moral  shipwreck  from  which  I  was  suffering.  He 
was  the  man  I  ought  to  curse  and  hate.  I  perceived 
him,  simply  recognizing  his  face,  hearing  his  voice 
and  touching  his  hand.  He  wore  his  evil  expres- 
sion, that  of  his  periods  of  ferocious  hardness, 
and  his  supreme  excitement  was  betrayed  at  least 
to  any  one  of  experience  like  myself,  by  a  way 
he  had  of  biting  his  lower  lip  with  his  teeth,  thus 
imperceptibly  lengthening  his  already  somewhat 
lengthy  profile,  and  the  animal  hidden  in  every  one 
of  us — ^which  in  his  case  was  the  fox — was  so  cruelly 
in  evidence  that  even  the  friend  most  hypnotized 
by  affection  could  see  at  those  times  his  real 
character.  For  my  own  part  I  experienced,  on 
discovering  in  his  face  the  traces  of  his  real  nature, 
a  start  of  antipathy  which  inundated  me  with 
rancour.  All  my  sufferings  of  the  last  few  hours 
exploded  and  I  received  him  with  a  torrent  of 
abuse. 

"  You  have  come  to  tell  me,  have  you  not, 
you  who  have  behaved  so  badly,  that  poor  Camille 
is  utterly  lost  now  ?  I  went  to  her  house  this  morn- 
ing, and  I  learned  that  she  had  spent  the  night 
from  home.  We  know  where.  That  is  the  work 
of  your  egoism.  But  there  will  be  a  reckoning 
with  you  for  this  infamy  ;  there  is  justice  somewhere. 


THE  BLLTE  DUCHESS  265 

It  is  a  crime,  do  you  hear,  a  crime  to  play  with  a 
sincere  heart  and  to  behave  as  you  have  done." 

"  Let  me  alone,"  he  quickly  interrupted  with  a 
shrug  of  the  shoulders.  "  When  a  young  girl  takes 
a  lover,  she  will  take  two,  three,  four,  and  the  rest. 
If  Camille  had  been  an  honourable  creature  she 
would  have  said  to  me  when  I  courted  her  :  '  Will 
you  marry  me  ?  No  ?  Then  good-bye.'  She  did 
not  say  so.  So  much  the  worse  for  her  !  Besides, 
if  I  did  her  a  wrong,  it  seems  to  me  that  now  we  are 
quits,  mean  trick  for  mean  trick,  her  scene  of  last 
evening  was  equal  to  all  my  infamy  !  " 

"Ah!  the  scene  from  Advienne  !  "  I  cried. 
"  Are  you  thinking  of  that  to  try  and  quiet  your 
remorse  instead  of  shedding  every  tear  in  your  body 
over  the  moral  assassination  you  have  committed. 
Let  us  talk  of  that  evening  !  What  painful  con- 
sequences can  it  have  which  you  can  put  in  the 
scale  to  counterbalance  a  ruined  future  and  a  poor 
soul  defiled  forever  ?  Has  Bonnivet  turned  his 
wife  out  ?  Has  he  sent  his  seconds  to  you  ?  No, 
I  answer  myself,  and  I  will  save  you  the  trouble  of 
comparing  the  bad  five  minutes  you  passed  and 
deserved  with  the  vertigo  which  has  just  seized 
and  destroyed  this  poor  girl  for  the  whole  of  her 
life  ;  I  repeat,  and  you  shall  hear,  for  the  whole  of 
her  life." 

"  What  heat  !"  he  rephed  with  an  ironical  smile. 
"  What  eloquence  !  We  are  engaged  in  telling 
the  beautiful  truth.  Come,  you  are  angry  with 
yourself  for  not  having  the  courage  to  put  yourself 
forward  in  Tournade's  place.     That  is  the  truth, 


266  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

no  denials,  please.  I  know  the  cause  of  it,  poor  La 
Croix.  Hard  words  are  useless  between  us,  you 
know  that,  so  let  us  change  our  subject  of  con- 
versation, shall  we  ?  "  Then  after  a  short  silence 
he  continued  :  "  I  am  not  annoyed  with  you,  and  I 
am  going  to  prove  it  by  asking  you  to  do  me  a 
service.     Guess  whence  I  have  just  come  ?  " 

"  From  the  house  of  that  hussy,  Madam  de 
Bonnivet,  naturally,"  I  repHed.  I  was  quite 
determined  to  end  the  interview  with  a  quarrel, 
and  I  had  used  the  phrase  which  I  thought  most 
likely  to  bring  that  about  quickly.  My  anger 
changed  into  stupor  at  hearing  him  reply  to  me 
with  a  chuckle — 

"  Yes,  with  that  hussy.  Madam  de  Bonnivet. 
You  hate  her  very  much,  do  you  not  ?  You  think 
I  am  very  infamous  to  sacrifice  Camille  for  her, 
don't  you  ?  Ah,  well  !"  he  went  on  in  a  singularly 
bitter  tone  which  made  me  reaUze  that  something 
very  new  and  unexpected  had  taken  place  in  that 
quarter,  "  I  have  come  to  ask  you  to  aid  me  in 
my  revenge.     That  surprises  you,  does  it  not  ?  " 

"  Confess  that  there  is  a  reason,"  I  answered  him. 
"  I  left  you  at  eleven  o'clock  last  evening,  only 
thinking  of  her  and  indignant  with  Camille  on  her 
account.  Then  you  treated  as  a  dirty  trick  the 
fooUsh  prank  of  that  poor  child  because  she " 

"  I  repeat  the  expression,"  he  very  quicklj' 
interrupted  me.  Another  period  of  silence 
followed.  I  could  see  that  a  combat  between  most 
contradictory  sentiments  was  taking  place  in  him. 
What  he  had  to  tell  me  wounded  his  vanity  sorely 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  267 

On  the  other  hand  the  same  vanity  desired  to 
wreak  upon  Madam  de  Bonnivet  the  immediate 
vengeance  of  which  he  had  spoken,  and  I  alone  was 
able  to  help  him  effectively.  But  this  man,  who 
was  usually  master  of  himself,  had  just  been  so 
completely  overwhelmed  by  an  affront,  which  was 
all  the  harder  for  him  to  bear  as  he  was  unprepared 
for  it.  His  anger  was  very  great,  and  he  went  on 
in  a  hissing  voice  which  vibrated  with  absolute 
sincerity  :  "  Yes,  a  dirty  trick.  I  stand  by  the 
expression,  and  I  am  almost  happy  to  have  to  do 
so,  for  it  constitutes  a  hold  over  her.  Listen," 
he  went  on,  putting  his  hand  on  my  arm, and  press- 
ing it  as  he  spoke.  "  I  called  upon  Madam  de 
Bonnivet  directly  after  lunch  to-day.  I  was 
uneasy.  It  is  in  vain  that  we  know  that  women  are 
like  cats,  and  always  fall  on  their  feet,  keeping 
something  in  their  disposition  with  which  to  twist 
a  husband  who  loves  them  round  their  fingers  when 
and  as  often  as  they  please — do  you  understand 
me  ?— we  have  to  be  so  very  careful  !  I  was 
afraid  that  Bonnivet  had  made  a  scene  with  his 
wife  after  Camille's  escapade  last  evening.  Now 
you  will  admire  my  foolishness  and  cease  to  re- 
proach me  with  heartlessness.  For  once  I  obeyed 
my  poor  heart  and  it  was  a  success  !  So  I  called 
upon  her  and  was  received  in  the  small  drawing- 
room,  which  you  know,  by  the  woman,  reclining  in 
a  long  chair,  clad  in  a  thin  dressing-gown.  You  can 
imagine  that  clad  in  lace,  with  just  enough  light 
to  give  her  a  shadowy  charm  like  a  phantom,  she 
looked  Uke  a  picture  of  the  ideal  capable  of  bewitch- 


268  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

ing  a  lover  who  is  about  to  be  dismissed.  Listen  : 
'  Have  you  a  headache  ?  '  I  asked  her.  '  I  ought 
to  have  one  at  least, 'she  replied,  looking  at  me  with 
eyes  I  cannot  describe — eyes  in  which  there  was 
hatred  and  fury  ;  but  at  the  same  time  they  were 
cold  and  venomous  eyes.  '  You  have  the  audacity,' 
she  continued,  '  to  return  here  after  what  took 
place  yesterday.'  I  was  so  dumbfounded  by  this 
reception  that  I  had  no  answer  ready.  She 
was  making  me  responsible  for  the  insult  Camille 
had  levelled  at  her  !  " 

"  It  is  a  little  severe,"  I  said,  laughing  in  spite 
of  myself  at  this  prodigious  change  of  front,  and 
the  sheepish  look  of  the  pseudo  Don  Juan  before 
this  surprising  display  of  feminine  malice. 
"  Between  ourselves  you  well  earned  it." 

"  But  listen,"  he  went  on  more  violently  than 
ever,  "  you  will  chaff  me  presently,  and  you  will  be 
right.  I  thought  I  had  touched  this  icy  soul  in 
a  spot  with  some  feehng  in  it.  I  was  taken  in, 
that  is  all.  You  cannot  imagine  what  hard,  cruel 
things  she  said  to  me  in  that  quarter  of  an  hour  ; 
and  though  I  very  well  knew  to  what  risk  I  was 
exposing  myself  by  allowing  Camille  to  act  there, 
yet  I  had  naturally  felt  flattered  at  having  my  two 
mistresses  face  to  face,  and  at  being  received  there 
myself  as  a  man  of  the  world  and  Camille  as  a 
lady  ;  and  though  I  had  conducted  myself  as  a 
man  of  letters  while  she  behaved  like  a  common 
actress,  yet  she  dared  to  make  use  of  words  which 
indicated  that  it  was  a  scheme  devised  between  us 
to  satisfy  my  vanity  and  to  revenge  the  insolence 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  269 

she  had  suffered,  that  it  was  the  last  time  her  door 
would  be  opened  to  me,  and  that  she  had  spoken  to 
her  husband — she  dared  to  tell  me  that — yes,  that 
she  had  spoken  to  him  and  explained  to  him  this 
girl's  ignoble  conduct  by  a  boast  on  my  part  ! 
But  if  you  had  heard  her  tone,  of  voice  when  she 
insisted  :  '  My  first  vengeance  shall  be,  since  it 
appears  she  loves  you,  to  send  you  back  to  her, 
and  she  shall  see  you  unhappy,  and  unhappy 
through  me  ;  for  you  shall  be,  you  shall  be  !  ' 
She  laughed  her  bitter  laugh,  which  you  know,  and 
I,  the  Jacques  Molan  you  know,  listened,  so  terri- 
fied at  the  baseness  of  soul  which  these  phrases 
proved,  that  I  did  not  stop  her.  I  might  say  if  I 
posed  to  you  that  I  amused  myself  by  stud5dng  it. 
Alas,  no  !  at  that  moment  I  was  paralysed,  I  do  not 
really  understand  by  what.  But  I  was.  Can  you 
imagine  Pierre  de  Bonnivet  entering  in  the  midst 
of  this  scene,  and  the  silence  which  fell  upon  the 
three  of  us  in  that  little  drawing-room  ?  I  swear 
to  you  I  thought  of  crying  out  to  that  fool  of  a 
husband  then  :  '  You  know  I  have  been  your  wife's 
lover.'  I  beheve  that  would  have  soothed  me  ! 
What  would  have  followed  ?  A  duel.  I  should 
have  survived  it,  and  I  should  have  been  revenged 
through  this  woman's  dishonour.  But  the  preju- 
dice which  requires  a  man  to  bear  everything  rather 
than  to  betray  a  woman  who  has  given  herself  to 
him,  even  when  she  deserves  it,  stopped  me.  And 
so,  here  I  am." 

"  But  what  motive  has  she  obeyed  ?"  I  cried, 
so  astounded  by  the  story  that  it  did  not  occur  to 


270  THE  BT.UE  DUCHESS 

me  to  laugh  at  the  contrast  between  Jacques' 
triumphant  attitude  of  the  previous  evening  and 
the  piteous  confession  he  had  just  made  in  a  hesitat- 
ing though  furious  way,  being  so  overwhelmed 
that  he  had  told  me  everything  haphazard,  this 
time  without  calculation  and  without  posing.  It 
was  the  shriek  of  the  wounded  animal.  "  Yes," 
I  repeated,  "  what  is  her  motive  ?  She  has  been 
your  mistress.  Consequently  she  must  have 
thought  something  of  you  !  " 

"  Her  object  was  to  take  me  from  Camille,"  he 
interrupted.  "  That  I  have  always  known.  Now 
that  she  has  succeeded  I  no  longer  interest  her, 
which  is  quite  natural.  The  spite  of  outraged  self- 
conceit  has  done  the  rest.  For  a  few  minutes  I 
represented  Camille  to  her  and  she  detested  me 
with  the  hatred  she  bears  her.  That  is  also  very 
natural.  She  has  found  a  means  of  satisf5dng 
everything  at  once  :  her  caution  concerning  her 
husband's  suspicions,  which  were  now  very  much 
aroused  ;  her  ferocious  hate,  and  without  doubt  her 
natural  fund  of  brutality  by  that  unlikely  rupture. 
But  I  am  not  turned  out  just  like  that.  I  have  a 
revenge  to  take,  and  I  will  take  it.  You  will  aid 
me,  and  at  once." 

"  I  ?  "  I  replied  :  "  how  ?  " 

"By  going  at  once  to  Camille,"  he  told  me,  and  as 
I  made  a  gesture  he  insisted:  "  Yes,  to  Camille. 
There  is  a  first  night  at  the  Theatre  Français  for 
which  I  have  a  box.  I  wish  to  attend  the  perform- 
ance with  her  tête-à-tête,  do  you  understand  ? 
Madam  de  Bonnivet  will  be  there.     I  want  the 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  271 

wretch  to  see  me  with  Httle  Favier,  and  I  want  her 
to  reaHze  that  we  are  reconciied  and  happy,  for 
that  will  wound  her  self-conceit.  It  is  the  only 
place  where  I  can  attack  her.  Ah  !  she  is  con- 
vinced that  I  left  her  house  in  tears  with  my  heart 
torn,  and  that  I  am  miserable  !  She  will  have 
before  her  fine  guinea  fowl  eyes  the  proof  that  she 
will  no  longer  be  of  any  more  account  in  our  Hves, 
Camille's  and  mine,  than  that,"  and  he  threw  down 
a  match  with  which  he  had  just  lit  his  cigarette  ; 
"  and  she  will  have  to  say  to  herself  :  '  All  the 
same,  this  man  has  had  me.'  For  I  have  had  her  ; 
she  cannot  alter  the  fact  that  she  has  been  my 
mistress.  What  a  revenge  it  is  even  to  think  that 
a  woman  can  never  efface  that  !  " 

This  horrible  explosion  of  evil  sentiments  had 
made  the  face  of  Jacques,  who  not  without  reason 
passed  as  a  handsome  man,  and  who  could  make 
himself  so  feline,  so  gentle,  and  so  caressing,  quite 
sinister.  He  was  hideous  at  this  moment  when 
he  was  justifying  in  a  striking  way  the  theories  of 
poor  Claude  upon  the  savage  hatred  which  is  at 
the  root  of  sexual  intercourse.  This  so-called  love, 
which  has  cruelty  for  its  root,  has  always  been  so 
repulsive  to  me  that  it  was  impossible  for  me  to 
pity  Jacques,  although  I  felt  that  he  was  as  un- 
happy as  it  was  possible  for  him  to  be.  Besides, 
I  could  clearly  see  the  absolute  uselessness  of  the 
mission  which  the  discarded  lover  wished  me  to 
undertake.  Madam  de  Bonnivet's  character  be- 
came quite  clear  to  me.  I  realized  that  even  with 
his  subtle  pretensions  to  trickeiy  my  companion 


272  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

had  been  in  the  hands  of  this  woman  what  the 
most  corrupt  of  writers  would  always  be  in  the 
hands  of  a  really  wicked  creature  who  did  not 
dally  with  depravity.  A  child,  a  poor,  little  swag- 
gering imp  of  vice  immediately  unmasked  and 
bound. 

This  implacable  coquette  had  amused  herself  by 
destroying  little  Favier's  happiness  with  the  joy 
those  beings  who  cannot  feel  experience  in  tortur- 
ing the  sentiments  of  others  !  She  had  seen  clearly 
into  Molan's  heart.  She  had  manœuvred  so  as 
to  bury  the  knife  in  the  vulnerable  part  and  at  the 
desired  moment.  She  turned  hirn  out,  after  that  had 
been  clone,  with  the  only  pleasure  she  could  feel — 
that  of  causing  suffering.  He,  the  theorist  of  all 
Parisian  depravities,  had  allowed  himself  to  be 
cornered  at  this  little  execution  without  any  sus- 
picion. Now  he  was  foaming  at  the  mouth  with 
impotent  rage  against  the  mistress  who  had  played 
with  him  as  long  as  this  sport  had  suited  her 
despotism,  her  ennui,  and  her  moral  depravity. 
But  she  had  not  left  in  his  hands  a  line  of  her  writ- 
ing, a  portrait — nothing  in  fact  which  could  bear 
witness  to  their  liaison.  No.  Molan  was  no 
match  for  her,  and  had  I  not  been  influenced  by 
other  motives  I  should  have  refused  to  undertake 
the  commission  he  desired.  The  only  service  to 
render  him  was  to  take  him  away  from  any  inter- 
course with  this  terrible  woman.  Besides,  again 
making  use  of  the  unfortunate  actress  in  this  affair 
would  have  appeared  to  me  the  misery  of  miseries, 
and  I  told  him  so.     "Be  satisfied,"  I  said,  "  with 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  273 

this  revenge,  for  when  you  speak  of  the  other 
you  forget  what  your  relations  with  Camille  are." 

"  How  ?  "  he  said,  and  he  made  use  of  the  most 
astounding  expression  his  egoism  had  ever  ut+ered 
in  my  presence  :  "  Since  I  forgive  her  that 
night  vnth  Tournade  !  " 

"  But,"  I  rephed,  "  perhaps  she  does  not  forgive 
you." 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  you  have  only  to  go  and  ask 
her  to  give  me  a  ten  minutes'  interview  here.  You 
will  see  if  she  will  refuse.  Do  it  for  me  and  for 
her  !  " 

"  No,  no,"  I  gave  as  my  final  reply  with  the 
brutahty  of  real  indignation,  which  made  him 
shrug  his  shoulders  and  pick  up  his  hat  as  he  said — 

"  Very  well,  I  will  go  and  find  her  myself." 

"  Where  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Where  she  is,"  he  answered. 

"  At  Tournade 's  house  ?  " 

"  Yes.  After  all  an  encounter  with  that  funny 
fellow  would  rest  my  nerves.  Then  the  Bonnivet 
woman  will  hear  of  it,  and  it  will  be  another  proof 
that  I  still  love  Camille.  But  I  shall  find  a  letter 
from  her  at  home  waiting,  asking  me  to  see  her. 
It  is  surprising  that  she  has  not  reappeared  this 
morning." 

He  had  again  become  the  Jacques  Molan  of  his 
best  days,  the  man  of  such  assurance,  of  such 
imperturbable  personal  affirmation,  from  which  a 
curious  authority  emanated.  Henceforward  I 
was  refractory  on  my  own  account.  Was  it  the 
same  with  Camille  ?     Would  he  not  succeed  in 


274  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

recovering  his  influence  over  the  poor  mistress  he 
had  tormented  and  vilified  ?  Then  what  worse 
degradation  would  she  have  to  suffer  ?  That 
question  which  I  asked  myself  when  Jacques 
had  at  last  gone  so  overhelmed  me  with  bitter- 
ness that  my  desire  to  go  away,  to  see  neither  him 
nor  her  and  to  know  no  more  about  them,  became 
irresistible.  I  decided  to  start  for  Marseilles  that 
same  evening.  There  I  would  decide  upon  my 
destination.  I  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  in  making 
the  necessary  arrangements  and  visiting  a  few 
relatives.  From  time  to  time  I  looked  at  my  watch, 
and  at  the  thought  that  the  time  of  departure 
was  approaching  a  hand  seemed  to  clutch  my 
heart.  I  felt  beforehand  the  chill  of  the  soHtude 
which  I  was  about  to  enter  in  leaving  the  city  in 
which  my  only  love  hved  and  breathed.  How 
great  was  my  discomfiture  when  at  six  o'clock, 
just  as  I  was  sitting  down  to  dinner,  I  heard  a 
carriage  stop.  The  bell  rang  and  then  I  heard  a 
voice,  that  of  the  person  I  most  desired  and  at  the 
same  time  most  feared  to  see,  the  voice  of  Camille 
Favier  ! 

"  Are  you  going  away  ?  "  she  asked  me  when  I 
went  to  her  in  the  studio,  where  I  had  told  the 
servant  to  take  her.  "  I  saw  your  trunks  in  the 
anteroom." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  I  am  going  for  a  tour  in  Italy." 
She  had  not  raised  her  veil,  as  if  she  did  not  wish 
me  to  see  her  face.  This  sign  of  the  shame  which 
she  felt  was  very  pleasant  to  me.  It  was  a  proof, 
aftei  so  many  others,  of  her  natural  delicacy,  which 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  275 

made  her  lapse  into  prostitution  all  the  more  heart- 
breaking to  me,  and  which  made  her  more  sadly, 
though  madly,  dear  to  me. 

"  When  ?  "  she  again  asked  me. 

"  In  an  hour  and  twenty-five  minutes  if  the 
train  is  not  late."  I  said  in  a  joking  tone  looking 
at  the  clock,  the  sound  of  whose  ticking  filled  the 
empty  room.  For  a  time  we  remained  silently 
listening  to  this  noise  of  time,  the  unalterable  step  of 
life  which  had  led  us  to  that  moment  which  would 
lead  us  on  to  other  moments,  moments  we  foresaw 
likely  to  be  dishonourable  for  her  and  melancholy 
for  me.  Although  we  had  only  exchanged  those 
insignificant  words,  she  saw  that  I  knew  every- 
thing. She  sat  down,  leant  her  forehead  on  her 
hands,  and  went  on — 

"  So  m>uch  the  worse.  I  wanted  you  to  take  a 
message  for  me  to  Jacques." 

"  What  ?"  I  said  tremblingly  ;  I  anticipated  the 
horrible  confidence.  But  I  added  :  "  If  I  can  be 
of  service  to  you  by  postponing  my  departure " 

"  No,"  she  said  with  strange  energy.  "  It  is 
not  worth  the  trouble.  It  is  better  that  I  should 
never  see  you  again.  It  was  to  return  him  this 
letter  he  sent  me  to-day — see  to  what  address," 
and  she  held  out  the  envelope  on  which  I  could 
see  the  name  of  Toumade  and  the  Rue  Lincoln  ; 
she  added  in  a  voice  which  was  less  firm  :  "  I  wished 
to  ask  him  not  to  write  to  me  nor  seek  for  me  again, 
either  there  or  elsewhere,  as  I  am  no  longer  free." 

Then  followed  another  period  of  silence,  after 
which  she  got  up  and  offered  me  her  hand,  saying — 


276  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

"  I  will  send  him  back  the  letter  myself  through 
the  post.  It  will  be  better.  Now,  Vincent,  good- 
bye, and  a  pleasant  trip.  You  will  remember 
me,  will  you  not,  and  not  judge  me  too  harshly. 
Come,  give  me  a  kiss,  as  we  shall  not  see  one  another 
again  till  God  knows  when  !  " 

As  I  pressed  my  lips  upon  her  cheek  I  felt  through 
her  veil  that  it  was  moist  with  tears.  Not  another 
word  was  spoken  between  us.  I  could  not  find 
a  question  to  ask  her.  She  did  not  think  of  a 
plaint  to  make.  Even  at  the  deathbeds  of  those 
I  loved  most  I  have  never  said  a  good-bye  which 
has  cost  me  more. 


CHAPTER    XI 

YES,  it  was  a  sad  and  rending  farewell  !  i 
must,  too,  have  been  plunged  into  the 
depths  of  melancholy  in  my  heart,  for  as  I  wrote 
the  account  of  it  I  sprinkled  the  paper  with  my 
tears  ;  and  now  I  feel  that  I  have  hardly  the 
strength  to  take  up  my  pen  again  to  add  to  this 
real  romance  the  sinister  epilogue,  the  suggestive 
irony  of  which  alone  decided  me  to  write  these 
pages.  Twenty-five  months  and  an  absence  of 
that  length  have  not  healed  my  secret  wound. 
It  is  still  open  and  bleeding  at  the  recollection 
simply  of  Camille's  cheek  moist  with  those  vain 
tears  beneath  my  farewell  kiss,  the  first  and  last 
I  ever  placed  on  that  charming  face  which  was 
now  profaned  for  ever.  Yet  if  absence  and  silence 
are  the  two  great  remedies  for  those  passions 
without  hope  and  desire,  one  of  which  my  strange 
sentiment  for  this  poor  girl  was,  I  can  do  myself 
the  justice  to  say  that  I  sincerely  practised 
them.  Those  twenty-five  months  appeared  to 
me  so  short,  so  short  when  compared  with  those 
few  weeks  spent  in  following  hour  by  hour  the 
fatal  march  of  the  deceived  mistress  towards  des- 
pair, and  the  rest  without  trying  to  prevent  it. 

277 


278  THF.  BLUE  DUCHESS 

But  let  us  run  through  those  two  years  from 
memory,  and  also  to  prove  that  I  have  not  much 
to  regret  in  their  employment.  First  of  all,  that 
same  evening  came  my  hurried  flight  to  Marseilles, 
then  the  following  day  I  sailed  for  Tiiscany  by  one 
of  the  boats  which  call  at  Bastia  eighteen  hours 
later  and  then  at  Leghorn.  I  have  always  pre- 
ferred this  way  of  entering  dear  Italy  without 
halts  by  the  way,  besides  which  this  journey  did 
away  with  the  possibility  of  telegrams  or  letters 
for  at  least  half  a  week,  from  Sunday  to  Thursday. 
Would  Camille  Favier  leave  Tournade  and  resume 
her  position  as  Jacques'  mistress  or  not  ?  Would 
the  latter  follow  up  his  absurd  project  of  a  duel 
with  his  new  rival  ?  Would  he  not  extend  the 
folly  of  his  humiliated  self-conceit  to  the  length 
of  having  an  affair  with  Pierre  de  Bonnivet  as 
well  ?  So  weary  was  I  that  I  no  longer  wished 
to  set  myself  these  problems.  O  God,  how  weary 
I  was  !  In  parenthesis,  I  was  very  wrong  in  setting 
myself  these  problems,  for  to  talk  like  my  friend 
Claude,  who  used  to  quote  with  such  delight  a 
phrase  from  Beyle  upon  the  execution  of  one  of  his 
heroes  :  "  Everything  went  off  simply  and 
decently." 

I  found  out  that  detail  afterwards,  but  much 
later.  At  the  time  I  remained  in  an  uncertainty 
which  I  had  the  wisdom  to  prolong.  But  four 
months  later,  opening  by  chance  a  French  paper 
in  a  hotel  in  Perugia,  I  saw  that  Mademoiselle 
Camille  Favier  was  to  replace  Mademoiselle  Berthe 
Vigneau  in  the  chief  part  of  a  comedy  by  Dorsenné  j 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  279 

that  Molan  was  publishing  a  collection  of  his  own 
plays  ;  that  a  horse  of  M.  Tournade's,  Butterfly,  had 
won  some  big  race  ;  that  at  a  very  select  gather- 
ing at  M.  de  Senneterre's  Madam  X ,  Madam 

Y , Madam  Z ,  and  Madam  de  Bonnivet  were 

noticed.  All  this  news  was  packed  into  this  one 
issue  of  the  paper  like  raisins  in  a  pudding.  It 
sufficed  to  prove  to  me  that  this  corner  of  the  world, 
like  all  corners  of  the  world,  was  still  itself,  and 
that  there  was  a  reassuring  lack  of  important 
events.  But  on  my  part,  was  I  not  imitating 
myself  by  copying  first  a  part  of  the  fresco  of 
Spinello  Aretino  on  Saint  Ephèse,  then  the  Salome 
of  Era  Filippo  Lippo  at  Prato,  and  going  on  with 
a  study  after  the  Piero  della  Francesca  by  Arezzo  ? 
Then  I  was  preparing  to  go  to  Ancona  ;  afterwards 
to  Brindisi  ;  to  visit  Athens  and  Olympia,  to 
feast  with  new  visions  the  most  sterile  and  insati- 
able of  dilettantisms.  When  I  think  of  that  furious 
work  of  vain  culture,  I  repeat  to  myself  another 
phrase  which  Dorsenné  was  always  quoting,  the 
exclamation  of  the  dying  Bolivar  so  poignant 
with  lassitude  :  "  Those  who  have  served  the  Revo- 
lution have  ploughed  the  sea  !  "  Have  those  who 
have  served  art  as  I  have  served  it  accomplished 
more  useful  work  ?     Then  what  is  it  ? 

Then  what  ?  I  think  that  Bonaparte,Talleyrand, 
Bernadotte  and  many  others  would  have  smiled 
a  smile  of  the  most  profound  contempt  for  the 
d5dng  revolutionary  who  had  caught  no  treasure 
in  the  great  troubled  sea  of  politics,  and  I  have 
only  to  think  of  the  two  little  scenes  which  fixed 


28o  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

the  bitter  crisis  in  my  memory  to  smile  a  no  less 
contemptuous  smile  at  myself.  '  However,  after 
ray  tour  in  Greece,  I  returned  to  prepare  for  a 
longer  stay  in  the  Orient,  and  a  visit  to  Egypt 
and  Asia  Minor  in  the  month  of  October,  to  begin 
there  that  series  of  pictures  upon  our  Lord,  con- 
ceived in  their  natural  environment,  which  would 
have  been  the  definitive  work  of  my  maturity  if 
another  had  not  anticipated  me. 

Chance  had  prevented  me  meeting  Jacques  and 
Camille  between  these  two  trips.  I  only  know 
that  the  latter  was  more  celebrated  than  ever 
and  the  former  had  married.  He  had  decided  at 
last  to  pluck  the  ripe  pear,  and  he  had  done  so  under 
the  wisest  conditions.  He  had  married  a  widow  of 
about  his  own  age  who  was  very  rich  and  without 
children,  with  sufficient  to  provide  him  in  his 
maturity  with  a  luxurious  home  without  the  aid  of 
his  copy.  But  as  he  had  not  deigned  to  add  a 
friendly  word  to  the  wedding  card  he  sent  me  I 
had  not  written  to  him.  That  absolute  suppression 
of  intercourse  between  us  hardly  allowed  me  to 
expect  to  see  him  enter,  as  he  did  the  other  day, 
my  studio,  looking  a.  little  older,  but  with  as 
clear  an  eye,  as  satirical  a  mouth,  and  as  well- 
dressed  and  smart  a  person  as  ever.  Had  we  met 
on  the  previous  evening  he  could  not  have  shaken 
hands  with  gayer  cordiaUty,  and  at  once  without 
waiting  to  hear  my  news  began — 

"  You  don't  know  the  pleasure  I  feel  in  seeing 
you  again.  When  will  you  come  and  dine  and  be 
presented  to  Madam  Molan  ?     You  shall  see  that 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  281 

I  have  been  lucky  in  the  marriage  lottery.  I  am 
sure  yon  will  be  very  pleased  with  her.  She 
knows,  too,  how  I  like  you.  Yes,  we  have  not  met 
lately,  but  that  is  no  reason  for  forgetting.  What 
have  you  been  doing  since  we  had  our  last  chat  ? 
It  is  two  years  ago  ;  how  time  passes  !  I  knew  that 
you  had  gone  to  the  Orient.  I  heard  of  you 
through  Laurens,  the  Consul  at  Cairo.  You  see, 
I  followed  your  movements  from  afar.  But  tell 
me,"  he  went  on,  after  I  had  rephed  to  him  in  some 
embarrassment.  These  subtle  cordialities  after 
such  indifference  still  disconcerted  nic  a  little. 
"  Yes,  tell  me.     Have  you  seen  Camille  Favier  ?  " 

"  Me  ?"  I  cried,  and  I  felt  that  I  was  blushing 
under  his  indulgent,  ironical  look,  "  never.  Why 
do  you  ask  that  ?  " 

"  Ah,  my  dear  boy,"  he  said  laughing,  and  this 
time  with  a  gay  laugh  which  displayed  his  white 
teeth,  which  had  remained  quite  sound  though  he 
was  forty,  "  you  were  born  simple  and  simple  you 
will  remain." 

"  I  understand  you  less  and  less,"  I  replied 
somewhat  impatiently. 

"  Why  ?  She  pleased  you.  You  pleased  her. 
She  has  had  lover  after  lover  since  Tournade — 
Philippe  de  Vardes,  Machault,  Roland  de  Brèves — 
every  one,  in  fact,  ending  by  the  little  Duke  of 
Lautrec,  who  spends  200,000  francs  a  year  on  her, 
and  yet  you  did  not  return  !  It  is  said,"  he  con- 
tinued with  more  malice  still  in  his  eyes,  "  that 
you  will  never  see  her  again  except  under  my 
chaperonage  !     Do  you  recall  our  last  conversa- 


282  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

tion,  how  I  asked  you  to  act  as  my  ambassador 
to  her  and  you  refused  ?  Ah,  well,  I  want  you  to 
undertake  another  mission  to  her.  Are  you  going 
to  refuse  again  ?  " 

"  That  depends  upon  the  mission,"  I  replied 
in  the  same  jesting  tone. 

"  Alas  !  it  is  quite  a  literary  one,  "  he  went  on 
gaily.  "  It  is  not  that  I  fear  my  wife's  jealousy. 
We  are  not  lovers,  she  and  I.  We  are  associates 
for  life,  and  she  is  intelligent  enough  to  understand 
that  the  infideUties  of  a  man  like  myself  are  of  no 
consequence.  But  I  have  in  all  things  a  horror 
of  going  back,  and  particularly  in  love  !  Briefly 
this  is  what  it  is.  You  remember  Madam  de 
Bonnivet  and  her  jealousy  of  Camillle  ?  " 

"  Queen  Anne  !"  I  interrupted  ;  "  do  you  want 
to  send  me  to  her  too  ?  That  would  crown 
everything." 

"  No  !"  he  said,  "  that  is  all  over,  and  a  very 
good  thing,  too.  Do  you  know  that  she  has  been 
left  a  widow.  There  is  a  report  that  she  is  going 
to  get  married  again.  But  the  whole  story,  Camille's 
jealousy,  the  scene  at  my  rooms,  and  the  scene  in 
the  drawing-room,  were  all  so  well  suited  to  a  play 
that  I  have  written  one.  It  is  a  kind  of  Adrienne 
Lecouvreur,  but  modem.  I  have  read  it  to  a  few 
friends  and  they  are  all  of  the  same  opinion,  that 
it  is  the  best  thing  I  have  done.  We  shall  see 
whether  his  accession  of  wealth  has  spoiled 
Jacques  Molan.  It  is  a  fact  that  I  swore  to  write 
no  more,  and  this  is  the  only  exception  I  shall  make 
to  that   rule.     After  the  age  of   forty,   however 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  283 

great  a  genius  a  man  may  be,  he  repeats  himself, 
then  he  has  outlived  his  day.  When  a  man  can- 
not surpass  himself  it  is  better  for  him  to  be  silent. 
I  dream  of  an  end  like  Shakespeare  and  Rossini, 
the  end  of  a  very  little  Rossini  and  an  even  smaller 
Shakespeare.  But  I  have  done  what  I  can  and 
I  wish  to  let  my  twenty  volumes  rest.  But  this 
opportunity  was  too  strong  forme.  The  subject 
took  possession  of  me,  and  the  play  is  written. 
I  repeat  it  is  the  last  !  " 

"  You  have  written  a  play  upon  that  story  ?  " 
I  interrupted.  "  What  \\ill  Madam  de  Bonnivet 
say  ?  " 

"  That  I  am  not  clever,"  he  said.  "  With 
women  of  the  world  it  is  very  simple.  You  figure 
in  their  drawing-rooms  and  you  are  a  great  man. 
You  no  longer  appear  there  and  your  plays  are 
not  worth  seeing.  My  wife  has  already  recognized 
three  of  our  friends  as  the  principal  character  in 
the  play.  Besides  people  hke  the  Bonnivets 
are  very  common  now  and  they  will  not  be  recog- 
nized in  it. 

"  But  Camille,  whose  romance,  a  sad  and  true 
romance,  this  adventure  was,  have  you  not 
thought  of  what  you  were  doing  to  her  by  trans- 
porting her  adventure  warm  with  life  to  the 
stage  ?  " 

"  That  is  precisely  it,"  he  replied  nodding  his 
head;  "  it  is  her  life  and  her  personality.  She  is 
the  only  one  who  can  play  the  part,  and  I  do  not 
know  how  to  negotiate  with  her.  She  is  a  strange 
creature.     She  never  forgets.     Would  you  believe 


284  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

that  three  weeks  ago  she  spoke  bitterly  of  me  to 
one  of  our  mutual  friends  !  If  I  write  to  her  she 
is  quite  capable  of  leaving  my  letter  unopened. 
Some  one  must  go  and  suggest  the  part  to  her, 
some  one  before  whom  she  has  no  self-conceit. 
I  thought  of  Fomberteau.  But  we  have  not  been 
very  friendly  since  my  marriage.  He  reproached 
me  with  selling  myself.  What  foolishness  ! 
Camille  and  he  have  quarrelled,  too,  over  some 
article.  Oh,  she  has  become  a  great  actress  now. 
That  is  the  reason  I  have  come  to  you  to  ask  for 
your  assistance." 

"  Me  !"  I  cried.  "  You  want  me  to  go  with  your 
manuscript  and  beg  that  poor  girl  not  only  to 
forgive  you  for  writing  the  play,  but  also  on  your 
behalf  to  take  the  part  herself  !  Come,  let  me 
look  you  straight  in  the  face  !  But  you  are  not 
a  fool  You  are  a  man  like  another.  Yet  you  do 
not  realize  what  a  monstrous  thing  you  are 
proposing  to  me  !  " 

"  Ah,  well  !"  he  replied  with  his  usual  smile, 
which  he  had  already  employed  to  laugh  at  my 
naïveté,  "  will  you  undertake  simply  to  convey 
our  conversation  to  her  as  far  as  your  indignant 
exit  just  now  ?  I  authorize  you  to  do  so.  That 
does  not  make  you  into  the  accomplice  of  any 
infamy.  You  are  going  to  see  an  old  friend  you 
have  somewhat  neglected.  Nothing  can  be  more 
natural,  can  it  ?  You  talk  of  the  rain  and  the 
fine  weather.  My  name  is  mentioned  and  you 
repeat  our  conversation  exactly,  beginning  like 
this  :    What  do  you  think  Jacques  dared  to  ask 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  2^5 

me  ?  You  will  then  see  what  answer  she  will 
give." 

Was  it  the  continuation  of  the  habitual  empire 
his  vitality  had  exercised  from  our  college  days 
©ver  my  doubts  ?  Was  there  concealed  within  me 
a  secret  desire  to  see  Camille  again,  a  curiosity 
to  know  what  the  Blue  Duchess  of  two  years  ago 
had  become  ?  Did  I  also  feel  curious  to  know  her 
reply  to  Jacques'  outrageous  proposal  ?  But 
whatever  the  reason,  I  accepted  this  mission  which 
I  considered  and  still  consider  monstrous.  I 
called  upon  Camille,  everybody's  Camille,  to  take 
her  the  horrible  words  of  her  old  lover.  I  saw 
once  more  the  face  I  loved  so  well,  but  now  it  was 
framed  in  ignoble  luxury  which  contrasted  so  cruelly 
to  my  mind  with  the  proud  and  humble  simplicity 
of  the  Rue  de  la  Barouillère  !  Not  one  of  those 
pieces  of  furniture  in  those  former  apartments  in 
thatold  street  but  told  of  a  noble  act  of  her  who  did 
not  wish  to  sell  her  beauty,  or  of  her  mother  who 
had  saved  the  honour  of  their  name  by  the  heroic 
sacrifice  of  her  fortune.  There  was  not  a  room  in 
the  sumptuous  house,  that  home  of  infamy  where 
she  lived  now  in  the  Avenue  de  Villiers,  like  my 
fashionable  colleagues,  which  did  not  tell  of  one 
of  her  prostitutions. 

Was  it  indeed  the  woman  who.  when  I  last  saw 
her,  had  not  dared  to  raise  her  veil,  as  if  she  were 
afraid  I  should  see  the  traces  on  her  pale  cheeks 
of  Tournade's  caresses  ?  Yes,  it  was  the  same 
woman  who  now  received  me  laughing  in  insolent 
bravado  with  not  a  trace  of  embarrassment  ;  and 


286  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

she  was  still  beautiful,  adorably  beautiful,  with  her 
fine  and  delicate  beauty,  which  I  beheve  would 
never  have  deserted  her  whatever  her  surroundings  ; 
but  she  was  now  so  provoking,  so  shameless  ! 

Not  a  word,  not  a  blush,  not  a  falter  betrayed  that 
she  felt  any  emotion  at  seeing  in  me  the  witness 
of  what  must  remain  to  her  a  perpetual  memory. 
She  lit,  while  she  listened  to  me,  an  Egyptian 
cigarette  of  tobacco  the  colour  of  her  hair,  and 
smoked  it,  exhahng  the  bluish  smoke  through 
her  dehcate  nostrils,  with  wide  open  eyes  between 
her  eyelashes  which  had  been  sHghtly  eaten  away 
by  the  crayon  she  used.  Her  mouth  looked  too 
red  from  the  rouge  of  the  night  before  ;  her  cheeks 
were  fuller  and  her  throat  was  larger  ;  and  her 
more  opulent  Ups  were  defined  by  a  dressing-gown 
which  was  a  costume  of  blue  stufï  worked  and 
embroidered  with  silver.  I  began  as  a  matter  of 
poHteness  by  giving  her  a  brief  account  of  my 
travels,  my  work  and  my  return  ;  then  I  broached 
the  real  object  of  my  visit,  and  I  conveyed  to  her 
brutally,  without  evasion,  Molan's  proposal. 

"Is  he  cad  enough  !  "  she  said  shrugging  her 
supple  shoulders.  "Is  he  cad  enough  !  "  For  a 
moment  I  hoped  that  a  nausea  of  disgust  would 
prove  to  me  that  the  old  Camille  was  not  dead. 
But  no,  she  went  on  after  a  brief  silence  :  "If  there 
is  really  a  fine  part  for  me,  tell  him  to  send  or  bring 
me  the  play.  He  is  so  very  clever  when  he  is 
clever  !  Have  you  read  the  play  ?  Is  he  satisfied 
with  it  ?  You  know  I  am  reaUy  in  need  of  a  fine 
part.     So  is  he,  for  since  he  has  become  wealthy. 


THE  BLUE  DUCHESS  287 

he  is  allowing  himself  to  be  forgotten.  Between 
the  two  of  us  I  will  answer  for  its  success  :  his  prose 
is  so  tender  and  I  interpret  it  so  well  !  " 

Not  a  vestige  of  indignation  did  she  feel,  that 
indignation  I  had  felt  at  knowing  that  the  sorrowful 
romance  of  her  irreparable  downfall  was  profaned  ! 
Hardly  a  vestige  of  mahce  did  she  show  against 
Jacques,  that  mahce  he  himself  expected  !  From 
her  clear  eyes  which  retained  the  colour,  the 
transparent  purity,  of  the  days  of  her  innocence, 
I  now  saw  her  smile  at  the  fine  part,  as  I  had  seen 
Jacques  smile  on  the  subject  of  the  play.  Then 
it  was  I  really  understood  the  reason  I  should 
never  be  a  great  artist.  For  them — for  him  as  I 
have  always  known  him,  for  her  as  she  has  become 
after  her  first  experience,  their  entire  life,  hearts 
included,  is  only  an  opportunity  for  producing  the 
special  act  they  have  to  produce,  the  precious 
secretion  which  they  make,  as  the  bee  does  honey, 
as  the  spider  does  its  web,  by  an  instinct  blind  and 
ferocious  as  aU  instincts  are. 

Love,  hate,  joy  and  sorrow  is  the  soil  to  make 
the  flower  of  their  talent  grow,  this  jQower  of 
delicacy  and  of  passion,  for  which  they  do  not 
hesitate  a  moment  to  kiU  in  themselves  all  real 
dehcacy  and  hving  passion.  For  a  word  to  speak 
on  the  stage,  for  a  phrase  to  write  in  a  book,  this 
woman  and  this  man  would  sell  their  father  and 
their  mother — Camille  had  not  even  mentioned 
hers  ;  they  would  sell  their  friend,  their  child,  and 
their  sweetest  memory.  I,  who  have  spent  my 
life  in  feeling  what  they  express  so  well,  he  in  black 


288  THE  BLUE  DUCHESS 

and  white,  she  by  gestures  and  in  moving  accents, 
only  succeed  in  paralysing  myself  with  that  which 
exalts  these  expressive  natures  ;  in  exhausting 
myself  with  that  which  nourishes  these  souls  of 
prey.  Does  destiny. then  will  it  that  artists,  little 
or  great,  be  of  necessity  distributed  between  the 
two  classes,  those  who  transcribe  marvellously 
without  feeling  the  passions  which  the  other  class 
feels  without  power  to  transcribe  ?  Was  Jacques 
right  in  saying  that  his  cruelty  to  Camille  by  giving 
her  memories  w^ould  also  give  her  talent  ?  A  fine 
part  !  A  good  play  !  Really  we  do  not  complain 
at  remaining  obscure  and  mediocre, if  this  obscurity 
and  mediocrity  are  the  condition  for  real  feeling. 
Besides  we  have  no  choice. 


THE    END. 


rKJNTEP  IN  GREAT  BRITAIN  BV   rtM     BSENDOh  ANP  SOS,   LTD.,  PLVMOOTH 


